North & South
by brigitte51
Summary: T.A. 1939 - Gondor and Arthedain both face dangerous ennemies and decide to join forces. Their alliance is sealed by a wedding uniting the lines of Isildur and Anárion for the first time, but will it be enough to save both kingdoms ? Featuring Arvedui, prince of Arthedain, and Fíriel, princess of Gondor.
1. A New Alliance

I've always marveled at how impressive the Gondorian kings' genealogy was because it so detailed and yet there is nothing actually written about it (anything canonical that is). Anyways, it's while I was browsing it that I got the idea for this fic (that's where I got the idea for _Along the Shores_ after all). I'm always so happy to find a canonical female character with an actual name and well, Arvedui and Fíriel do have an interesting story.

So just to sum up what's going on, Arvedui is the son of Araphant, the king of Arthedain (one of three kingdoms created after the fragmentation of Arnor) and that makes him a direct descendant of Isildur. Fíriel is the daughter of Ondoher, the king of Gondor, so a direct descendant of Anárion. The two kingdoms were estranged for some time, but they decided to join forces again to fight Angmar and the Wainriders (spoilers, it failed…). Oh and back then **Minas Tirith** was still called **Minas Anor** and Minas Morgul was still Minas Ithil.

Arvedui is around 76 at the time of the story and Fíriel is 44, but since they have quite a long lifespan (around 180), I thought of them as being 37-38 and 20. As in, they're still young (especially Fíriel) but there is a significant age gap between them.

Enough for the explanations, please enjoy the story!

Again, all credits to Professor Tolkien.

* * *

 **North & South  
**

 **Chapter 1 - A New Alliance**

 **T.A. 1939**

Fíriel had always lived with the knowledge that she would not chose her husband, or at least that her choice would be limited to a handful lords from Gondor's finest families. It had never bothered her much, for it was the fate of most princesses and she trusted her parents to find a suitable husband, with whom she would be happy. If she was lucky enough, she may even fall in love with that man, although romance was something she had given up long ago – it was something solely found in books and songs. Overall, Fíriel had no particular expectations and she thought a good man would be sufficient, as long as she stayed not far from her own family.

And until she was announced she was to wed Arvedui, son of Araphant, king of Arthedain, it had never even crossed her mind she would not dwell in Minas Anor her entire life. She had been aware new negotiations between the two kingdoms were ongoing and that it was related to the Wainriders and Angmar, yet nothing had suggested it would have such an impact on her personal life.

Her father and mother were not too keen on the idea that their only daughter, their youngest child, was to be sent so far away. King Ondoher had felt it would be better to first ask Fíriel if she was willing to go to Arthedain as he was asking for a rather big sacrifice from her part. Yet Fíriel had said yes, she had agreed to help seal the alliance, without hesitation. She had never hoped to be able to help her father defend their lands against the Wainriders and she was proud to be assigned her own mission, in these dark times. If all it took for Gondor and Arthedain to join forces was one wedding, then there was no reason for her to refuse.

It had seemed a very sensible thing to do – till she had had to say good bye to her family, on the first day of September. The betrothal was to take place in Spring, and the wedding was to follow quickly during the Summer, but Fíriel had required she was given some time to get acquainted with her new home in Fornost, and with the man she was to spend the rest of her life with.

Thus, in the span of a few weeks, her life had been turned upside down. Fast, so fast it had happened, and bidding farewell to Gondor felt bitter, for she had never known loneliness before.

* * *

Upon her arrival in Arthedain, Fíriel had been warmly welcomed by the Queen whose smile and kind words had managed to make her forget how gloomy Fornost had appeared at first.

The fortress was quite an impressive sight to behold: it had been built on the slopes of the North Downs and it was encircled by high walls and a few towers made of fine grey marble. Large oak gates marked the entrance of the city and the paved streets Fíriel went through to reach the halls of the King gave her a good preview of northern architecture. Statues and carvings were pretty indeed, and slate roofs were an interesting feature, yet Fíriel thought Fornost was too dark, too narrow. For someone born and raised in Gondor, nothing could really compare to lofty Minas Anor, to the Citadel, the White Tower and Mount Mindolluin – everything was greater there.

However, once she had been introduced to the Queen, who quickly linked her arm to hers and lead her to her new chambers, Fíriel wondered if her bad impression of Fornost was just due to the rain and the cloudy weather.

"Fíriel, my dear Fíriel, how glad I am that you made it safely to our lands," Queen Gilwen was saying, as they walked through the corridors of the palace. "Our halls feel a little empty for now, I'm afraid. As you know, my husband and my son have gone to patrol the borders and they shall not be back before another fortnight at least."

"I was told so, indeed."

"It might be disappointing not to meet your betrothed today, yet I believe it is a good thing you have time to settle in before Arvedui comes back."

"I suppose," said Fíriel, nodding. And it was true she felt relieved she would not have to talk about the wedding so soon.

"I hope it won't be long before you feel comfortable here, dear Fíriel," said the Queen, gently patting her arm.

 _I hope so too_ , thought Fíriel, suppressing a sigh – she was already homesick.

* * *

The following days, Fíriel tried to convince herself it was the rain that was affecting her mood or that it was the lingering chill that made her so weary. She blamed the foreign dishes for her lack of appetite, her new bed for her lack of sleep and the harsh wind for her tears. However, her grief – for it really was grief – was caused by something else, something she did not want to face. Fíriel was alone in Fornost, as none of her Gondorian friends had come with her. A few of them had agreed to move in Arthedain for her sake, yet they would not arrive before Spring when the betrothal would be celebrated.

In the meanwhile, she had to befriend the ladies the Queen had kindly introduced to her, in the hope they would keep company to the Gondorian princess. It should have been considered an honor to be part of her suit, yet somehow the ladies of Fornost were not especially enthusiastic about Fíriel's presence among them. They never were once rude with her, on the contrary, they lacked no good manners. They greeted her, rather cheerfully, giggling a little as only maidens would, and they always left the best seat – the one nearest the hearth – available for her. But that was it, aside from politeness, there was no genuine concern, no sympathy, no a thought about her. As soon as they were done with formalities, they would resume their needlework, chatting happily, and most of the time they gossiped about people Fíriel knew not. They became oblivious of her, as if she was part of the furniture, and it was in moments like these that Fíriel felt utterly helpless. She did wonder if any of them had hoped to be betrothed to Prince Arvedui, which might explain why they excluded her this way, but she never inquired about it to the Queen, nor to anyone else.

During these first weeks, she came up as cold and haughty to many, although she was unaware of it. Fíriel did her best to get acquainted with the court and its customs, yet she was soon overwhelmed and some names she forgot, some titles she omitted, some habits she overlooked. It was quite puzzling that these Northerners were so alike to Gondorians in looks and speech, and so different too in their ways. Perhaps cold weather had toughened them, or perhaps the proximity of Rivendell and Lindon had instilled solemnity to their minds.

Fíriel did find some solace in the kindness Queen Gilwen displayed towards her. She was easy to talk to and caring, although she had not much time to devote to her future daughter-in-law. In the absence of her husband and son, she was the one in charge of current affairs and that kept her very busy. When she did spend the evening with Fíriel, it was ever pleasant, and she always was very delicate when dealing with matters related to the upcoming wedding. Once only did she make a peculiar remark about prince Arvedui, one that Fíriel kept in mind for a long time.

"I'm afraid my son has never showed any interest in matrimonial matters," had confessed the Queen. "As for courtship, I presume it has happened however… What I wish to say is that he may appear slightly gruff to you at first, since he has spent so little time in the company of ladies."

And sensing Fíriel's growing dismay, she had added, "Arvedui is a fine man and mayhap his speech is not as gallant as that of some others, yet he treats everyone with great respect, whether they are wealthy lords or humble peasants."

It was the only words of this type Fíriel heard from the Queen and she was relieved it did not last long, for it made her anxious. However gentle, noble or faithful lord Arvedui could be, he was first and foremost a complete stranger, as well as a mature man, of some 30 years older than her. The blood of Westernesse did flow in his veins, like in hers, which meant he was still vigorous, but this age gap did worry her – among many other things.

* * *

Sometimes, when Fíriel felt too overwhelmed, she would skip needlework – a pastime she had no special interest in – and go to the tall house next to the stables, where the men who had rode with her from Gondor stayed. They were people who had served her father for many years and with them she was at ease, for she needed not pretending to be someone else. Together they usually played cards and the oldest of these men inquired about her living conditions, making sure she was well fed and treated with the respect her rank commanded. Every time, Fíriel assured them there was nothing she could complain about, even though it was lie, and she was thankful for their fatherly concern. Truth was, it always made her a little sad to have to leave them.

It was during one of these visits that she first encountered prince Arvedui, although she did not actually see him and neither did he see her. He was supposed to be back to Fornost any days, yet none could tell the exact date and in the end Fíriel was left ignorant of the details concerning his arrival. Thus she never expected to come across him unexpectedly.

That day, before going back inside the palace, she had wished to linger a while in the stables, as she missed riding so much – she missed riding with her brothers even more. She had always loved horses greatly and she was patting a beautiful white stallion when she heard some voices. Some men were approaching and she could tell they were not squires, so she quickly hid behind a pile of hay bales. It was a foolish reflex, but she was glad she had done so when she soon understood it was Arvedui himself who was in the middle of talk with one of his friends.

"What can you tell me, Cirion?"

"Not much, my Lord… My sister says she joins the other ladies in the afternoon, however she never takes part in any discussion, to the point that some had assumed she was mute. I myself have not heard much from her, aside from greetings and a few banalities. She does seem proud, or perhaps she really is shy, nonetheless I wonder if she has anything to say at all."

"I hardly could believe a Gondorian princess would not have received an excellent education."

"Perhaps, it is also not impossible she did not retain much from it."

"What of my mother?"

"From what I glimpsed during dinners, they get along well enough. Or they appear to, at least."

"Good… with the shadows of Angmar lurking at our frontier, the princess shall probably spend more time with her than with me."

"Rather convenient, is it not?"

"I do not mind being wedded… Whether it is with this one or with another does not matter to me. I have never met a woman of my liking and should I keep waiting for it to happen, I might never wed and father an heir. It is a good thing, then, that this matter is settled."

"I suppose I could not expect a less pragmatic answer from you, my Lord."

"It is simply another one of my responsibilities as a prince of Arthedain."

And after that, they left the stables and Fíriel could not hear anymore what they were saying. But she cared not, she knew enough about the prince's feelings for the moment, and she wondered how she would find the courage to face him when they would officially meet for the first time. Now that it was so plain he cared not about her, like most of the lords and ladies in Fornost apparently, she feared she would never be able to play her part in the alliance sealed between Arthedain and Gondor. Being a good ambassador for her father was perhaps the only thing she believed she could do well…

* * *

Queen Gilwen had had the good idea of introducing them to one another in private, in her own parlor. She knew her son was not one to love big crowds, and Fíriel was still intimidated by the court, thus she wished to spare them any further embarrassment. It was already unconventional they were to be betrothed so fast, without having time for proper courtship, so there really was no need to burden them any more.

Upon looking at him, Fíriel first thought there was something familiar about him, for his silhouette was not so unlike her father's or her brothers'. He was a tall man, wonderfully tall, as only an heir of Elendil could be, and he was slender, yet sturdy. Handsome was perhaps not the best word to describe him, but there was majesty in his grey gaze and wisdom on his brow. It was easy to tell he spent more time out riding in the wild than idling in Fornost: his dark hair and beard were unkempt and there was still some dirt under his nails – although he was much cleaner now than he had been a few hours ago. His hands were surely the hands of someone who was not afraid to get the work done and Fíriel was impressed by that.

She fought not to shrink in front of him and even managed to bow most graciously. He returned the favor, a bit stiffly, looking at her straight in the eyes, his expression unreadable.

"Lady Fíriel, I hope your stay in our halls has been pleasant so far," he said, "and please let me apologize for not having been here myself to welcome you when you arrived."

"I assure you there is no reason for you to apologize, my Lord. I understand there were more pressing matters you had to deal with, it is only natural you had had this sorted before coming back here." She felt relieved common courtesies flew so easily out of her mouth – old reflexes did not let her down.

"Rest assured I shall do my best to remain at your side until the celebration of our wedding."

"I am deeply grateful for this, my Lord." And Fíriel did not know anymore what to say, wondering if it would not be uncalled-for to ask him about his expedition to the north-east border of the kingdom. Her presence in Arthedain was, after all, a direct consequence of the on-going war against Angmar and now she was to fear the Witch-King more than the Wainriders.

"Fíriel, come sit by my side," said Queen Gilwen, patting the seat next to hers. "I have asked our dinner to be served in here so we have all evening to talk."

Fíriel uttered a thank, wishing the food would come fast so she would have something to do with her hands.

"Arvedui, my dear, I ordered the cook to prepare some ducks from lake Evendim," the Queen told him and, turning to Fíriel, she added, "It is among his favorite meals and he enjoys it even more when he is back from long travels."

"Centuries have passed since our people have deserted Annúminas, but we still go there every now and then during hunt season," said Arvedui, as he sat in front of Fíriel and his mother. "When your brothers come, perhaps I should bring them there, for they shall enjoy it immensely, I daresay."

"They are quite fond of hunting, indeed," Fíriel answered. _And so am I_ , she thought, but this had probably not crossed Arvedui's mind.

"What hunting area is most sought-after in Gondor?"

"There are many, but the people of Minas Anor favor Anórien and Ithilien." She was about to say she had often joined her father and brother's hunting parties, but she was interrupted when the parlor's door flew opened.

Servants were bringing plates, as well as some drinks, and Queen Gilwen chuckled happily.

"Arvedui, there are surely other things we could discuss, aside from hunting," she said, with a smile. "Mayhap Fíriel is curious about winter in our lands, since the weather is milder in Gondor."

"It snows a lot," was all Arvedui could think of and he took a sip of wine, to spare himself a longer comment.

Fíriel drank too, for she did not know what sort of witty remark she could make about cold and snow – it was still a dreadful prospect to her.

Hopefully the Queen was resourceful and whenever she had had the occasion of meeting Southerners, she had always enjoyed describing at length what winter was like in Arthedain. "Of course, it snows a lot, and there are storms too. On some days, the wind blows so hard, none of are men dares passing the city's wall and feet of snow obstruct the roads. Yet our people are strong and they face these hardships without any complaint,

And she went on for minutes, till the main course was brought to them. Thankfully the duck was delicious and all their attention seemed to focus on this, putting an end to the endless chatter of the Queen. But as much as the food and the wine were excellent, dinner proved to be disappointing, both for Fíriel and Arvedui. They had no real occasion to talk and their exchanges were limited to trivial matters – neither of them were very good at it.

Queen Gilwen had meant well, yet this first meeting was far from being fruitful. When Fíriel finally retired into her chambers, she felt weary and disheartened. She doubted she could even be an ambassador for her father, since prince Arvedui probably believed her to be dimwitted by now.

* * *

Cirion had been right, Fíriel was quite a discreet lady and she would only talk if she was addressed directly. But Arvedui did not believe for a second that her silence was the result of haughtiness or silliness and he thought the chamberlain was a fool not to have perceived Fíriel's feelings. While she tried to hide it, it was obvious she was scared and confused, longing for her home and her family. And he was conscious that despite his title he was not exactly the bachelor all ladies were swooning over. He was too taciturn and there was the prophecy also: who would want to marry _the last king_?

What Cirion had not been said however, was that Fíriel was pretty – probably because he did not think of her that way. Indeed, she was not the typical Dúnedain beauty, for there were a few quirks about her, but overall it made her look even more charming. Her brown hair was a few shades lighter than the black color that was usually considered most desirable and she was a bit short, but what was surprising were her freckles, something considered unconventional among nobility. Her eyes, though, were grey and sparkling, being her true inheritance of her father's line, and they were the only characteristic she seemed to share with Arvedui.

Her being comely did not bring him any particular joy, it was a mere observation. The qualities he was hoping to find in her had nothing to do with her outward appearance and one meeting would not tell him much about her character. But he was not too optimistic, for he believed that once shyness had worn off Fíriel would just turn out to be like most ladies he knew, fond of sewing and gossip, and not very interested by him and his fights.

"Arvedui…" said Queen Gilwen, interrupting his musings.

"Yes, Mother?"

"I know you would have rather chosen your spouse yourself, but do be kind with her," pleaded the Queen.

"Was I not perfectly courteous tonight?"

"You were indeed. Yet Fíriel is more affected than you by this situation and 'courteous' might not be enough to make her feel home in Fornost."

"I shall try my best, Mother." In all honesty, he was unsure there was anything he could do, for he had no clue what would help the princess settle. And was it not her maids' duty to take care of this sort of things?

To him, the wedding was purely political as Arthedain was in dire need of the assistance of Gondor in the war against Angmar. He was not so unhappy it also meant he would have an heir in the years to come, although he had not forgotten the prophecy – what land would his son rule after his death? Yet he brushed away these concerns, for whatever awaited the kingdom of Arthedain, he was convinced the line of Isildur would outlive it. And even though he had been mildly impressed by Fíriel, she still was a descendant of Anárion, and perhaps it was what he liked best about her so far.


	2. A Little Outing

**Celridel** : Thank you! I'm having fun with them, I'm trying to do something a bit different from what I wrote before. Yeah, I have not read anything about them either, although there are some interesting facts about their lives (they're still very minor characters I suppose!).

I only noticed it when I uploaded the 1st chapter, but Arvedui and Fíriel are not in the list of characters (I guess we can't expect all the characters to be there) and I did not put them as OCs. I searched to see if I could not at least put 'Human' or 'Dúnedain', but it's not here either. So, too bad.

It's nice for once not to work with perfectly looking creatures (i.e. Elves haha)

* * *

 **Chapter 2 – A Little Outing  
**

"Lady Fíriel, we are all wondering… what are your thoughts on prince Arvedui?"

For once, Fíriel was entirely focused on her needlework, making neat stitches, and she had not heard the question lady Beril had asked. She was quite proud of what she was doing, for she had been embroidering the White Tree and the sparkling silver thread she was using looked wonderful – she was impressed, to say the least.

"Lady Fíriel?"

The princess was so startled when lady Beril waved her hand in front of her face, she let out a small shriek.

"Oh, please excuse me, I was quite wrapped up in my work…" she muttered, her cheeks turning red. Again, she had looked like a fool, but she tried to regain her composure quickly.

"It is a beautiful piece you have sewn together, my Lady," said Beril, smiling brightly.

"Thank you," Fíriel said and it seemed strange one of the ladies would bother to compliment her needlework for, so far, none of them had even glanced at it.

"And so… what did you think of the prince?" And suddenly all the young women were staring intently at the Gondorian princess, as if it was the first time they met.

"I only met him once, there is not much that could be said about it," replied Fíriel, reluctant to tell the ladies what kind of first impression prince Arvedui had left on her. She believed the Queen had been right when she had used the word 'gruff' to describe him, although he had been barely back from the north-eastern frontier – perhaps he looked neater when he stayed in Fornost.

"You saw him though! Surely you could share with us your thoughts on that matter," they insisted.

Fíriel frowned, wondering what king of comments they were hoping for. "He is handsome and there is quite a noble air about him, as should be expected from an heir of Elendil," she answered, surprised that she already felt the need to be faithful to her husband.

"Would you say he is handsomer than the noblemen of Gondor?"

"I do not know… Dúnedain tend to look similar, in the North or in the South…"

"Oh, I cannot wait for the wedding!" exclaimed Beril, clasping her hands together. "To think of all those Gondorians who will attend the celebrations, will it not be exciting?"

"I wish I could meet a gallant lord who would bring me back to his kingdom."

"Me too, would that I could live by the sea."

And they started chatting excitedly, discussing the betrothal and the wedding at length, although they did not turn again to Fíriel to ask for her opinion on the matter. Once more, it was as if the princess was transparent, but it did not bother her anymore. She had resumed her needlework, glad the ladies had stopped prying into her personal life, and when she was finally satisfied with the way her White Tree had turned out, she left the room – none of the ladies noticed her disappearance.

* * *

During the following days, Fíriel saw the prince during dinners only. She was always seated on the left side of the Queen and he, on the right, so that they faced each other every time. Yet it was not in Arvedui's nature to entertain small talk and most of the time he remained silent while the others conversed happily. The chamberlain, especially, was heard often and his witty words never failed to delight the guests.

The presence of the prince had changed nothing to Fíriel's difficulties to adapt to Fornost – not that she had actually expected he would help with any of it. Still a small part of her had hoped the ladies would prove friendlier with her now that he was there and it had been very disappointing to realize they had simply become nosy, as if his looks were all that mattered. To them, the wedding was just a good occasion to dance, to eat and to meet some exotic young man from Gondor and it had never occurred to them it would be a challenge to Fíriel.

At least, Arvedui's overall appearance had improved: he had had his beard trimmed short, his hair too had been cut and it was now combed with care. Overall it made him look younger and, most importantly, less intimidating, for, when gazing at him, Fíriel was not in search of beauty, but of comfort. Somehow, she would have liked that Arvedui acknowledged her need for sympathy, although there was little chance for it to happen. If they could just become friends, it would lift quite a burden off her shoulders.

But the prince had worries of his own. Arvedui was a little annoyed he was to spend Winter in Fornost and that had nothing to do with Fíriel. The cold season was when the Witch-King of Angmar grew more powerful and every year his hosts managed to penetrate a little deeper in Arthedain, threatening to invade the kingdom. But his father, the King himself, had bid to him to stay in Fornost and to focus on his upcoming wedding – diplomacy was also part of his duties, after all. He was to welcome his future brothers-in-law in March and, although a formal bond would settle the alliance between Gondor and Arthedain, their visit would be a crucial moment. To him, it was more important than the wedding itself.

* * *

On a bright morning – there were not so many of these – Fíriel had climbed up the highest terrace of the palace. From up there, the view on the surrounding moors was spectacular and the landscapes of Arthedain offered stark differences with those of Gondor. A soft breeze was blowing and high herb swayed on the down's slope, like it was a great green sea. Here and there poppies had bloomed, adding some color to the scenery, and small blackbirds flew from one bush to the other, singing gaily.

She loved the landscape, she loved to be alone as well, but on this morning some unexpected company came around. Prince Arvedui himself showed up, dressed in elegant garbs, and as soon as he had spotted Fíriel he walked towards her, greeting her very politely – he was still acting stiffly around her.

"Lord Arvedui," she whispered, nodding at him. She wouldn't have admitted it, but for a second she regretted she had climbed up the tower. Facing the prince so early in the day seemed a bit too much to handle.

"Lady Fíriel, I thought perhaps you would like to join me for luncheon, later today," said Arvedui.

He had been urged by his mother to spend some time with the princess and eating together had been the first thing that had crossed his mind – truth be told, he had not given this much thought. It would at least give him the opportunity to get better acquainted with Fíriel and he dearly hoped conversation would be more interesting than last time, when they had been introduced to one another.

"With pleasure, my Lord," she answered, her eyes widening slightly.

"Since the weather is surprisingly warm today, I shall have a table readied in one of the gardens."

"It is sunny, indeed…" said Fíriel and there was great longing in her eyes as she gazed at the vast lands above them.

"Should we take a walk around the walls this afternoon?" inquired Arvedui, who felt generous.

"Would it be possible for us to go a little farther…?"

Fíriel had suddenly the urge to go as far from Fornost as possible and something was telling her prince Arvedui would be willing to do that.

"Where to?"

"I… I would very much love to go explore the Baranduin's banks," she confessed.

"Would you?" said Arvedui and he took a closer look at her – a blush had spread on her cheeks, but her eyes sparkled with expectation. "Then I suggest we depart as soon as you are ready, my Lady, so we can spend the whole day out, if this is what you wish for."

"May my men come along as well? Those Gondorians who traveled with me…"

"They are welcome to join us, of course." Arvedui was little puzzled and he stared some more at Fíriel.

"I should go tell them and get ready, then." And off she was, in a twirl of white dresses and long brown hair. It was strange, yet agreeable, to see how she had so quickly lightened up. Apparently, Arvedui's future wife was more of an outdoor gal, or so the prince hoped, for his people were few and scattered on vast lands. It would be convenient if Fíriel was not too afraid of traveling around, whatever the season was.

Less than one hour later, Fíriel was in the courtyard, clad in traveling clothes, her hair braided neatly. He had to admit it seemed she knew what she was up to and he was even a little impressed when he saw her saddle her horse, although it was common for girls of noble families to be able to do these sorts of things. Around her, the men of Gondor busied themselves and they were all in jolly mood – in no time their little company was on the road, whistling a travel song.

At first, Arvedui had insisted they should ride at a reasonable pace, bidding the Gondorians to keep an eye on Fíriel in case she displayed signs of discomfort or weariness. However, it soon became obvious the princess was used to long rides, for not only was she perfectly at ease on her horse, but she seemed also very happy to be out in the wild. She knew well her men and together they were racing against each other, laughing whenever they sped up. They also took dares, jumping over fences and streams, and they liked to zigzag between bushes – they all guided their horses remarkably well.

It took two hours for them to reach river Baranduin and by then Arvedui had begun to think this day would not be entirely wasted, for he had prepared himself to spend hours in a parlour, drinking tea and nibbling on dry cookies. While he would have complied to whatever Fíriel could have wished to do, he was relieved she had asked to go on this little trip, although he wondered if it was something she usually did. His mother seemed to believe Fíriel was used to dwell in a big city and thus might to spend too much time in the countryside.

"I will be having a closer look at the river," announced Fíriel, as soon as she had gotten off her horse.

"Do not wander too far, princess!" the oldest of the Gondorians told her.

"Worry not, Beregond!" she said, laughing as she headed towards the river.

She was so thrilled to be out of Fornost, her heart was beating faster in her chest, as if she was alive once more. Walking on the soft moss, she stopped from time to time to pick up some heather, and then she sat down on a flat rock to braid the flowers into a crown. It reminded her of the many days she had spent with her brothers Artamir and Faramir, playing around the Citadel, and out of Minas Anor, on the Pelennor Fields. When they were children, they had loved to wear fake crowns and although Artamir had always claimed the throne of Gondor, he had also promised his younger siblings grand titles and lands he would conquered just for them. But now, years later, it seemed Fíriel had won her own crown, one they had never even considered in their child games – one she did not exactly she wish to wear.

* * *

Arvedui stayed with the Gondorians, wishing to make their acquaintance, and they took a walk around the banks while keeping an eye on Fíriel – she had found a nice little spot, right by the water and seemed quite content to be on her own. The prince was curious about these men, whom he had only caught glimpse of so far, and he had many questions for them, mostly related to their mission, their duties and the North-South road. As for them, they were glad they could talk to him and they appreciated his concern and the way he was interested in what they told him, thus they gave him a lengthy account of their journey to Arthedain.

"It is good to be outside of these walls, my Lord," said Beregond, the oldest, and he spoke for them all. "It is good for the princess too, for she was in need of some fresh air."

"Has she not gone a on walk with the other ladies? At this time of the year, they love to go pick up mushrooms." Or Arvedui had heard, but he had never payed much attention to that.

"To my knowledge, she had not once left the fortress before today."

"Then I shall tell my mother to have a word with the other ladies."

Beregond nodded, unconvinced. Fíriel had never complained in front of him or of the other men, but they all had noticed there had been a few changes about her. And they suspected none of the ladies of Fornost had put any real effort into helping their princess feeling home in Arthedain.

"Well, the princess must be hungry, perhaps you could go fetch her, while we start fishing, my Lord," Beregond suggested and it was a little bold of him, even though Arvedui took no offense.

The prince let the Gondorians deal with rods and lures and off he went to look for Fíriel. She had left the flat rock on which she had been resting previously, yet he found her quickly enough – she had not strayed far, as she had promised Beregond. Barefoot, she was paddling in the water, looking like of one of these kids that loved chasing frogs.

"Is not the water too cold for this kind of games, my Lady?" Arvedui inquired and his tone turned out more severe than what he had intended for.

"It is, I suppose, yet I could not help it," Fíriel whispered and, jumping out of the water, she put her boots back on.

"In Summer, the area is quite pleasant," he said and he smiled, trying to be gentler. "Then, you shall be able to swim and you might even be able to go as far as lake Evendim, if you will."

She nodded, feeling a bit uneasy. To hear him talk about Summer was strange, for that was when the two of them were to marry and it was still hard for her to project herself in such a future.

"I am taking good note of your suggestion, my Lord." Even outside of Fornost, in such beautiful place, Fíriel could not manage to sound natural when talking to him – her voice was so cold, so lifeless.

An awkward silence ensued, during which both stared a couple of ducks flying over the river.

"I must admit I had not expected you would enjoy this kind of outing," said Arvedui who had noticed her eyes still sparkled. He also thought there were a few more freckles on her face, probably because of the Sun, and some moss had stained her white dresses, but overall it worked in her favor.

"I was raised with two brothers, I spent more time running outside than sewing inside," Fíriel said and she was a little upset the prince was so sure domestic works was all she cared for. What kind of women was he familiar with to hold such prejudice against her?

"Of course, you would have spent time with your brothers…" This notion had not crossed Arvedui's mind and he wondered why he had not think about it earlier – perhaps that was because he was himself an only child. Yet, had he had a sister, would he have not wanted to play all sorts of games with her, growing up together? "You do not have to devote all your afternoons to needlework, if it does not suit your likings. My mother simply assumed it was the easiest way for you to bond with the other ladies, yet she does not expect you to stick to it forever."

"I do not mind it," Fíriel replied, flatly.

"I suppose the company of young women is entertaining and you could probably convince some of them to ride with you."

Fíriel shrugged. "If you say so, my Lord."

Arvedui had seen it again, this flash of sadness in her grey eyes. Perhaps he was not familiar with maidens and how they interacted with each other, but he was no fool and he had understood Fíriel and the young ladies of Fornost did not go along well. He could not yet discern the reason they were estranged but he hardly could believe Fíriel's 'haughtiness' was to be blamed. However, he was unsure it was up to him to do anything about this and, hopefully, he would find someone to take care of it, in his stead.

"Let us forget about needles and thread for now," declared Arvedui, with a dismissive gesture. "I came to tell you lunch will soon be ready."

"What have you brought?"

"Nothing, I thought it would be entertaining to catch some fish and by now your men have probably started cooking," he explained. "The rainbow trout in this area is quite a delight, I daresay."

"I do believe you," said Fíriel, nodding. "And you are lucky, my Lord, for my men excel at fishing."

She had managed to smile, timidly, and Arvedui let out a small chuckle.

"Good, then. I am extremely hungry."

The Gondorians proved Fíriel right, as they had caught enough fish to feed an entire household, although their appetite was such that there was not much of it left once they were done with it. For once, the princess ate with pleasure and the trout was indeed delicious – far better than anything she had had in Fornost.

* * *

They came back to the fortress at dusk, all a little tired, but immensely happy. Fíriel parted with Arvedui and her men in the courtyard, looking forward a good night of sleep. However, that evening, the Queen was waiting for Fíriel in her chambers and she seemed overjoyed to see the Gondorian princess – she was ever quite demonstrative, truth be told.

"Fíriel, my dear, have you had a pleasant day?" she said, helping Fíriel taking her cloak off. "I do hope you are not too weary."

"I am fine, thank you for inquiring, my Lady," the princess answered, with a smile.

"Good, good… It occurred to me today that we have yet to welcome you properly," Queen Gilwen said. "Of course, the details regarding the wedding have been decided in rather unconventional circumstances, and Arvedui has been back in Fornost for a few days only, however now that you are both here, is it not time we throw a small celebration in your honor?"

"It would be nice, indeed," said Fíriel, who knew she could not refuse it anyways.

It was not surprising the Queen suggested something like this: her parents and the Gondorians in general would expect the people of Arthedain to treat her like a guest of honor and the etiquette did dictate that in such case a grand feast was to be held.

"I thought a banquet and some music would be enough for the time being, but if you have any request, please do tell me and I shall do my best to please you."

"My Lady, I wish not to be a burden to you and I am sure you have other businesses to attend to," Fíriel said. "Something simple shall satisfy me plenty."

"Are you sure, dear? Fornost must seem… austere to you, does it not? I have never gone to Gondor myself, yet I heard Minas Anor is a magnificent city and quite populated too…" Queen Gilwen had quickly understood Fíriel, although being a princess from a wealthy kingdom, had no expensive tastes and could make do with less than what she usually had. However, she believed she should put some effort into it, for it was a way to ensure the alliance between Arthedain and Gondor would be fruitful.

"Worry not, my Lady, I am aware the real celebrations will be held in Spring. And I certainly have no reason to complain about the way I have been treated thus far." Hopefully, Fíriel had had a good day and she could tell these sorts of things in a perfectly convincing tone – it also helped that Queen Gilwen was the only person she felt attached to in Fornost.

"You are kind, my dear Fíriel," said the Queen and she put a kiss on the princess forehead, before exiting the room, bidding her a good night.

Still fully dressed, Fíriel laid on her bed, thinking about this feast Queen Gilwen had decided to throw. She had attended many events of this kind in Gondor and most of the time she had enjoyed it greatly – she was not a bad dancer and could sing decently. But for once the prospect of a celebration made her more anxious than enthusiastic. For the sake of appearances, she'd have to pretend she was flattered for the attention, thankful to the Queen and delighted to dwell in Arthedain…

And that would only be the beginning.


	3. A Small Celebration

**Celridel:** Thank you once more :) All that Middle-earth knowledge comes from HoME books haha

Thank you also to those who followed/favorited :)

I had not planned this little "celebration", but it occurred to me a princess should be welcomed properly (well it's not yet the official celebration)

I should mention Gondor was bigger and much more powerful than Arthedain at the time. Arthedain was just a third of Arnor and also I always had the impression the Dúnedain were less in numbers in the North. In this context, Fíriel is a little bit like some big city girl who ends up in the countryside… Also it means the Gondorians are not particularly impressed by Arthedain, especially considering the two kingdoms have been estranged for a while.

* * *

 **Chapter 3 – A Small Celebration**

"Have you had the occasion to better get acquainted with the princess?"

"I have."

"And…?" said Cirion, the chamberlain, as he looked at Arvedui, in expectancy.

They knew each other since childhood, thus Cirion sometimes allowed himself to be less formal with the prince and the latter did not mind it.

"She shall make a suitable bride, if that is what worries you. And she seems to be in excellent physical condition, she surely will bear me a healthy child," Arvedui said, very seriously – deep down, though, he was amused to see the chamberlain's puzzled expression.

"Is that so? Rumor has it she is quite infatuated with you already."

Cirion was eyeing the prince, hoping to trigger a reaction from him.

"What are you insinuating?" asked Arvedui, phlegmatic.

"She might have told the other ladies you were handsome and that she could not wait to be your wife," said the chamberlain, grinning.

"Has she?" sighed Arvedui.

It seemed unlikely Fíriel believed him to be _handsome_ and the fact that she could be looking forward their wedding was utter rubbish. For all he knew, she had maybe loved another one, in Gondor, and was still longing to be reunited with him, while she was stuck with a sinister northern prince.

"Have you not noticed anything?"

"I pay no attention to this kind of petty talks."

"Does it not at least flatter you a little, my Lord?" Cirion inquired, his tone slightly ironic. "Perhaps you are looking forward the little celebration your mother will be holding in her honor?"

"I do not care much for her affection," said Arvedui. "It would make matters more complicated if one of us was to be enamoured with the other, would it not?"

"Surely you are the only man in Middle Earth who does not wish for a loving wife," muttered Cirion, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Perhaps I am, yet what does it matter?" the prince told the chamberlain, before he took his leave.

One thing Arvedui loved about being in the field with his men was that there was no time for such futilities. He did not enjoy partaking in social activities, however he was aware it was an inevitable component of life in Fornost and he did nothing to avoid it. He sometimes wished it would as easy to deal with courtiers than with soldiers, for he was a good leader, trusted by all, yet he had no talent for small talk and curtsies. Anyhow, words would be of no use the day he would have to face his fate, whatever trial would the last king go through – this though ever kept him grounded.

* * *

Fíriel had selected a navy blue and grey dress, whose collar was embroidered with seven stars, and she was wondering if it would not look pretentious to wear it. From what she had observed so far, in Arthedain fashion was simpler than in Gondor and they had no fabric as light and as shiny as the satin weaved in Minas Anor. Yet she also kept in mind she was the princess of a mighty kingdom and her father expected her to display some of this power, be it by wearing garbs richer than any ever seen in the North. And so she dug deeper in the chest she had brought from home and retrieved a few precious jewels her mother had given her – some had been crafted in Númenor, long ago. And to wrap up her preparations, a maid came to braid her hair, entwining it with silver ribbons, just like all the ladies did in the South.

Examining herself in the mirror, Fíriel regretted none of her friends were present. They were usually the ones making the last adjustments to her outfits when she had to attend a grand occasion and she could always rely on their keen sense of details. And most of all, she could have done with some encouragement, for she still thought she would look haughtier than ever. Yet for once it seemed necessary – she'd be their Queen one day, she ought to show them what kind of lady she was.

* * *

In the Main Hall, candles had been lit up, brass chandeliers sparkled and great fires roared in the chimneys. More tables than usual had been laid and already servants welcomed the guests with cups of warm wine, hydromel and ale, which was sufficient to insure everyone's good mood. As the Queen had said, it was a small gathering, yet wreaths of flowers adorned the walls and a string orchestra was playing music – all and all, it was very charming.

Fíriel made her entrance discreetly, or at least she tried to. But the Queen had been keeping an eye for her and upon seeing her stepping into the Hall, she came to her, visibly thrilled.

"Oh, my dear Fíriel, how beautiful you are!" she exclaimed, gazing at the princess with endearment. "And you are clad in such elegant clothes, I shall perhaps bid the Gondorians to send me some of this incredible fabric!"

Queen Gilwen fumbled a little with Fíriel's dresses and the way she did it, with motherly concern, was heartwarming.

"Thank you, my Lady. I believe quite a procession will be coming from Gondor, in Spring, and you surely shall find some of our best fabrics among the gifts intended for you and your husband."

"I'm afraid we will never be able to match your parents' generosity."

It was true Fíriel stood out among the crowd of Northerners and many of them were staring at her, surprised the usually low-key maiden could turn into a sparkling beauty. They were also slowly realizing Gondor was a powerful kingdom, for their princess could afford to display this kind of wealth during a simple feast.

Fíriel had noticed her appearance had caused a small stir and she did her best to focus on the Queen, whose kindness was soothing.

"It is not a contest, my Lady. We are allies now."

"Come with me, Fíriel, there are a few lords and ladies I would like to introduce to you."

The Queen took her by the arm, leading her around the room to meet some fine people who had come all the way from Bree and seemed impressed to meet a Gondorian princess. From what Fíriel gathered, Queen Gilwen had parents dwelling in this small town and these beheld her a different way than the inhabitants of Fornost did. They were unaffected, embracing her warmly, asking all sorts of questions about Minas Anor and Gondor in general and they were delighted by what she told them. Their presence did much to cheer Fíriel who began to think this evening might turn out to be enjoyable – till she saw Arvedui striding towards her, a bunch of excited maidens in his tow.

There was quite a gap between the gay atmosphere prevailing in the Main Hall and the grim expression of the prince, who wore a simple black and grey suit. He greeted his mother's kinsmen in a formal way, as if he shared no special bond with them, and he seemed determined to appear dignified among the silly crowd of guests. Fíriel found herself shrinking when he stepped near her and she did her best to reply to his polite inquiries – was she satisfied with setting, did she enjoy the company, had she tasted the wine, etc.

This time, for dinner, she sat beside him on the dais and for a moment she feared she would have to entertain conversation with him all the while. Hopefully more courses than usual were served, which kept everyone busy, and the prince remained silent for the most part. From time to time, he would gaze down at the long tables where guests were seated and he would frown, the way someone irritated by a loud noise would. He was not a merry fellow, yet Fíriel did not mind it – she merely wished he would do like she did and take it upon himself to look pleased.

When the time to dance came, Fíriel pretended to be very absorbed with the bowl of myrtles she had been served. The fruits were delicious, but she was simply anxious to avoid Arvedui's gaze, as long as possible. Eventually they would have to dance together, as social convention dictated, however she felt she needed more time to get accustomed with the idea.

"My Lady, why don't the prince and you come dancing? I do believe your wonderful dresses will be quite a sight, once you twirl!"

One of the ladies with whom Fíriel spent her afternoons had approached them, closely followed by two of her friends. They were giggling, winking at the princess, and Fíriel felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"Do not be shy, my Lady, you will have a lovely time indeed!" they insisted, chuckling harder.

"We shall join you in a few moments," said Fíriel and she hoped Arvedui would somehow intervene, saying he'd rather not dance.

"Well, I am ready if you are, my Lady," he said as he got up.

Ever courteous, he extended his hand and when she took it, the ladies gasped with excitement. They now believed Fíriel had genuine feelings for the prince, or at least that she was trying to convey such idea. And so they played the game, propagating words that had never been spoken, drawing conclusions from vague clues they had invented. In a few days they had managed to create a whole mythology revolving around Fíriel and Arvedui and the must gullible of them had started to believe their own fantasies. The worst part was that they all were convinced they were helping the princess achieving her goal, helping her shape her new image as an enamoured betrothed and getting rid of the haughty first impression she had left on them. And this celebration seemed to be the perfect occasion for them to actively try to get the prince warm up to his future bride.

For a few seconds, Fíriel meant to tell Arvedui she had nothing to do with these giggling ladies, yet she reckoned that with him it would be better not to mention it at all.

"Are you familiar with these dances? Are they not similar to what is popular in Gondor?" the prince asked.

"it is slightly different, yet nothing I cannot learn quickly," she said, smiling.

He was a skilful dancer, leading Fíriel with ease, although his expression had yet to brighten. As for her, she could hardly relax, for she had not been so close to him thus far and this proximity left her pondering. Perhaps they would never become intimate, even after decades and decades of marriage – given both their lifespan, Fíriel estimated they would spend a little over a century together –, yet at some point they would have to share a bed and produce an heir. While usually Fíriel was not bothered by this notion, since it was just another one of her duties, it suddenly became more real when their hands touched, when she felt his breath brush her forehead.

Awhile, she held his gaze, trying to guess what was going on his mind. But his face was expressionless and he could as well be thinking of his next expedition by the borders. There were fine lines at the corner of his eyes she had not noticed before and it reminded her he was older than her brothers by many years. She wondered if he had loved someone before, if he had hoped to marry another woman and it would be sad, had he given up on marrying who he wanted to. Perhaps that was what was on his mind, this other person, who could be in this very room, watching them. However, it seemed hardly plausible, for he looked so stern, even while waltzing, she could not imagine having been romantic even once in his life.

"Would you like a cup of wine, my Lady?" Arvedui inquired, once the dance was over.

"Yes, please."

A flock of ladies, half of them she knew not, gathered around Fíriel as soon as the prince had gone to get the drinks – as if they had long planned ambushing her.

"You dance quite well, my Lady," lady Beril complimented her.

This one was always leading her pack and something about her made Fíriel uneasy.

"Thank you."

"It is also a pleasure to see the prince dance, for it does not happen so often," said Beril, shaking her long auburn hair.

"It has been years since we saw something like this," said another – she was named Rían, thought Fíriel.

It looked like there was a lot more they wanted to tell the princess, yet they fell silent when Arvedui came back to their group, handing Fíriel a cup. Anyone observing the scene would have had a hard time determining who between the prince and the princess was more embarrassed by the situation. Hopefully, lady Beril was quite cheerful and she engaged in a speech about the various dances that were considered typical of the North – she seemed to know a lot on the matter. It was a success, for within minutes some lords had joined them and Fíriel was explained absolutely everything about celebrations in the old kingdom of Arnor.

Arvedui had slowly withdrawn himself from the little crowd and when he saw she was surrounded with so many people, he thought it would be alright for him to let her enjoy the feast with them. He had had no intention to spend the evening with her in any case, thus he went to bid his mother a good night and retired to his chambers discreetly.

An hour later, when she had emptied her second wine cup, Fíriel also managed to slip away from the group that had formed around her, which was not difficult. They were so wrapped up in their discussions – alcohol made them more enthusiastic – that barely none noticed the princess was gone and the few who did assumed she had wanted to grab another beverage. Yet Fíriel was not thirsty anymore. Those last sips of wine had tasted bitter and she felt alone in this crowd of joyous Northerners, even though this celebration had been thrown in her honor. She had grown weary and wished there was something she could speak to frankly, someone with whom she would not have to pretend everything was perfect.

She glanced at the Queen, who was with her kinsmen, laughing heartily, but she had no wish to join them. She also searched for Arvedui, half expecting to find him brooding in a corner, alone, however he was nowhere to be seen – he had vanished already. If the groom had left, could not the wife do so too?

* * *

Fíriel had merely stepped out of the main hall when she heard steps behind her. At first, she paid no attention to it, presuming some servant had been ordered to fetch more wine, but soon she realized someone was following her.

"Lady Fíriel!"

She turned around, puzzled. A young woman was running towards her, her white dresses flowing behind her. Fíriel did not recognize her and, even though she had given up on remembering everyone's name for the time being, she was quite sure she had never seen this one before.

"My Lady!" said the stranger, curtsying graciously. "I hope it was not too discourteous of me to rush after you like this…"

"Well… It is unexpected, but… pray, who are you?" asked Fíriel, blinking.

"My name is Meldis, I am the daughter of Bregolas and a distant cousin of prince Arvedui," said the maiden, a little out of breath. "I am part of the Queen's kin who dwells in Bree. I.. I thought perhaps I should introduce myself to you, my Lady."

Fíriel bowed her head, "I am glad to make your acquaintance, lady Meldis."

"Call me Meldis, please."

She would have been unable to tell why, but Fíriel liked Meldis instantly. She was very pretty and her face was heart-shaped, while her dark hair was long and curly. She had big brown eyes, warm and gentle, and whenever she smiled, dimples appeared on her cheeks.

"I was about to have some tea in my room, perhaps you would like to join me, Meldis?" Fíriel asked and for once her smile was genuine.

"With pleasure, my Lady."

They headed to Fíriel's chambers, where they settled on her bed, a tray of tea and honey cakes between them, and for a while they chatted happily, Meldis describing Bree and how lovely and quaint town it was. Fíriel herself talked a lot about Minas Anor and its gigantic proportions, yet, at some point, she inquired, out of the blue, "Had the prince been promised to someone else, before Gondor and Arthedain decided to make an alliance?"

Perhaps it was the wine she had drunk earlier, or maybe she had just regained some of her usual confidence, yet she wanted to know about this aspect of the prince's life.

"There were a few serious candidates among them, indeed…" answered Meldis, cautiously, as if she had expected such question. "To be honest, there was one lady we all believed would become the next queen, indeed."

"Was there?"

"Truth be told, till last year, it seemed their betrothal was imminent," said Meldis. "Although there was no telling he had any particular interest in her, for our prince does not display his feelings in public… Should I… should I understand you are a little worried perhaps?"

"No, not at all… yet I cannot help but wonder if this lady may feel resentful towards me." And Fíriel also wondered if she knew her.

"She went back to Cardolan when it was announced you would be wedded to Arvedui, thus you never met her, my Lady. Although, a few of her close friends here might be crossed, yet their resentment should not last long."

"Sometimes it seems they wish there were the one marrying him… It creates such an awkward atmosphere…" sighed Fíriel.

"My Lady, you should know they are after the prince, not Arvedui. It is just their vanity that was hurt when you arrived, nothing more."

"Has he never been… romantically involved with a lady?"

Meldis giggled. "You want his heart too, princess?"

"No, no… my considerations have nothing to do with this."

"Well, not that I know of…"

"I would find it comforting if I knew his coldness towards me was caused by the love he bears for another," Fíriel confessed. "It would provide a very understandable reason for his attitude."

"I reckon his coldness is just the way he behaves with people he is not familiar with," said Meldis, smiling gently. "Give it a few months, princess, and you shall see he is a good person."

Fíriel nodded, still unsure, but she said no more on this matter – she'd rather listen to what Meldis had to say about Bree, Fornost and the kingdom of Arthedain.

The two young women talked for hours and they fell asleep well after midnight, on Fíriel's bed.

* * *

It was Arvedui who had bid Meldis to keep an eye on Fíriel and he had also insisted she remained silent about this request. He knew the princess had trouble adjusting to the life in Fornost and Meldis was the solution he had come up with to help Fíriel feel more at home in the North. His young cousin was a lively creature who had been raised in a humbler household than most ladies Fíriel had been introduced so far and he had deemed it was precisely because of this that she would make an excellent companion for the princess.

Meldis had accepted this mission, thrilled she would have to spend so much time with Fíriel, yet she had been surprised Arvedui cared at all about the princess. From what Queen Gilwen had told her, the prince spent most of his time avoiding his future wife and longed to go back in the wild, with his father. Yet perhaps he was a little more concern than what it seemed, enough at least to have noticed the melancholic mood of the princess.


	4. An Unexpected Talk

**Celridel** : I have to thank you again for your interest in this story :) Hope you'll enjoy this chapter as well.

It took forever to update, but it's July and I was away pretty much every weekend and during the week I was too tired to be productive. But it's all over now, I've got free time again.

I must admit that when I wrote the 1st chapter, I thought it'd be a short story about Fíriel adjusting to life in the North and I was not even planning on making it last to their wedding. But it turns out there's a lot more to say about this alliance than just Fíriel having a hard time in Fornost… which is nice I think :)

* * *

 **Chapter 4 - An Unexpected Talk  
**

By the end of November, things had started to settle down for Fíriel and the presence of Meldis did much to help the princess adjust to her new home. Everything seemed easier now that she could rely on her friend, thus Fíriel finally regained some of her usual confidence – she was being less like a little fragile thing and it felt good.

The first improvements were small, but significant: she did not bother anymore to sit all afternoon with the other ladies, sewing and embroidering. She felt no more the need to pretend she had any interest in this kind of domestic activities, neither in the gossips the ladies shared, and instead she roamed around the King's halls with Meldis. As both of them were yet unfamiliar with the palace, every little discovery had its importance and it was quite exciting to enter all these vast rooms that had been abandoned decades and decades ago – the population of Arthedain had been slowly yet steadily decreasing ever since Arnor had been split into three kingdoms and it had had some repercussions on the occupancy of the King's halls.

Fíriel and Meldis did not limit themselves to the palace, however. With the men of Gondor, they oft took strolls in Fornost, and sometimes outside the fortress's walls too. The Gondorians, Fíriel included, were curious about fall and winter in the Northern regions and the day the first snow fell, on the first day of December, they spent hours in the fields around Fornost, running and playing like little kids. Prince Arvedui himself had even showed up and although he had thrown no snowball, he and Beregond, the oldest of the Gondorians, had had a lengthy talk on the type of shoes a horse should wear during winter – these two were getting along very well.

Yet what really pleased Fíriel, were the greenhouses. They stood in a forgotten corner of the King's halls, their glass covered with dirt, their insides full of plants who had too long enjoyed a chaotic freedom. Gardeners had given up on them a while ago even though, according to some of the oldest servants, they had once been exotic green oases, full of rare flowers and trees brought from Númenor by Elendil himself. Yet time had passed by and as the shadows of Angmar grew stronger, less time had been devoted to the lore of plants and the greenhouses had come on the verge of decay.

"What a wonderful place!" Fíriel had exclaimed, the day she had made this discovery.

"Really? Isn't it a bit shabby?" had wondered Meldis, who was convinced tons of terrible insects must be crawling inside these greenhouses.

"Obviously, no one has been around for years, decades even, yet they're sturdy construction. Perhaps with some cleaning, one could restore these greenhouses to their former glory."

"Are you fond of botany, princess?" Meldis had agreed not to be call Fíriel "My Lady" anymore, but she liked to say "princess" instead.

"I am," admitted Fíriel, grinning.

She had found one of the door, whose handle had gotten rusty, and she tried to push it, mustering all her strength. It barely shifted and she realized she needed a key and some mighty help to enter these greenhouses.

"Perhaps you could ask permission to use them," suggested Meldis. "I daresay Arvedui would happily agree to this."

Fíriel gave her friend an uneasy smile. "I find it to speak freely around him, yet I shall gather some courage and have a word with."

"Oh, princess, he won't bite you," said Meldis, giggling.

However, she could guess Fíriel would probably not dare ask Arvedui about the greenhouses – good she was there, _she_ was not afraid of the prince.

* * *

The Queen had received tidings from the King and he was not to return to Fornost before the beginning of February. Bands of Orcs had been sighted in the North and there had been a few skirmishes in Rhudaur, thus he deemed it safer to spend Winter out with his troops. Queen Gilwen had been expecting such words and she was ready to face the next months without her husband – it had happened often before. Arvedui, on the other hand, seemed to grow restless upon reading these news and he started spending an increasing amount of time in the barracks, training with his men. And although she did not know him well, Fíriel could guess he was upset his father had insisted he should stay in Fornost instead of joining him in the field. Sometimes, she did think it was quite useless for him to be there, for the Queen was used to handle current affairs, and he did little to get better acquainted with her. He could have as well been away, it would not have changed anything – or so it seemed at first.

What Fíriel could not guess, however, was that Arvedui and his father had a rather strained relationship. Before her arrival, they had argued often on the matter of the betrothal and they still disagreed on many things concerning the alliance with Gondor. And while Arvedui had no particular objections regarding his wedding with Fíriel, he shared not his father's views on marriage. The King of Arthedain wanted a low-profile daughter-in-law, a pawn he could use, yet his son wished Fíriel would be more involved in their affairs and more assertive in general.

He really did wish it, especially after having read his father's counsels, in his last letter.

 _"_ _Do remember, my son, that Gondor is a powerful kingdom. It has declined, yet nearly not as much as Arnor has, and its people outnumber us by far, and its cities still stand tall. Thus, even though this alliance is a great chance for Arthedain, we should be on our guard and protect our independence. I believe the princess herself is unaware of what her father and brothers might plan regarding her new status, but I fear they might seize this opportunity to meddle in our affairs and I shall never allow this._

 _Arvedui, make sure she adjusts well to Fornost (I do not doubt your mother has already done a great job at welcoming her). However, keep your distance for the time being. I would not want this soft heart of yours to develop any tender feelings towards the princess, you shall need to be firm and defend your kingdom against Gondor – of that, I am sure."_

Unlike his father, Arvedui was not convinced Gondorians would try to claim dominion over Arthedain – or over Rhudaur and Cardolan, for that matter. But King Araphant thought Gondor was a possible threat to his kingdom, a threat as tangible as Angmar, even though it was quite an odd idea.

Arvedui kept an eye on the princess from afar – anyhow, his mother and Meldis would tell him anything of importance concerning her –, but no more. It was partly because it was in his character to do so and partly because he was not yet sure she would be tough enough for what his father was preparing.

* * *

Arvedui was standing in the cloister, leaning against a pillar. He was gazing at the snow slowly falling on the ground, seemingly unaware of her presence, and for once his expression was peaceful – perhaps he did really like winter.

He stirred out of his thoughts when Fíriel came near him and as he slowly turned his head towards her, he inquired "Are you on your way to the greenhouses?"

"I am, my Lord," she replied, standing a few feet away from him.

"Call me Arvedui, please."

She nodded, but said nothing.

There was something like nostalgia gleaming in Arvedui's grey eyes and his attention focused once more on the snow. "Winter can be quite impressing in these lands, yet one can also enjoy it greatly, if well prepared."

"The Queen made sure I would not lack warm clothes and furs," said Fíriel, who wore a magnificent fox fur on her shoulders – something Northerners had not taken out of their trunks yet. "However, I must admit, it is a comfort to know I can always go to the greenhouses, where Spring never ends."

"They must be in bad shape, must they not? They were neglected for years…"

"These greenhouses have strong bones, but plants of all sorts have proliferated inside. I am still in the process of sorting everything that has been growing in there… If that is alright."

"Do as you wish, they are all yours."

Silence fell between them. He was probably expecting her to leave, but there was something Fíriel wished to tell him, though she was hesitating.

"Thank you, Arvedui," she finally whispered.

"What for?" he asked, surprised.

"The greenhouses, I know it was your doing." Or, truth be told, she had guessed Meldis had mentioned her love of botany to him and he, in turn, had had a word with his mother about it. Anyhow, she had been given the keys a week ago and two gardeners had become her assistants – they were the ones who had been strong enough to open the doors.

Arvedui raised his eyebrows, for this sudden thankfulness caught him off guard. "I did not do much really, I merely suggested you should be given the keys and my mother did the rest," he said, grudgingly admitting he was keeping an eye on her.

"I appreciate the thought, nonetheless," Fíriel told him, smiling.

And she was about to go when his hand touched her arm, lightly. He too had something to say and it was no coincidence he had been daydreaming in the cloister, right on the way to the greenhouses.

"Fíriel, I was about to use the palantír and… it occurred to me that you might wish to join me, since I will be communicating with your father."

The princess's eyes widened, her face becoming white. "Could I… could I be allowed to talk to him as well?"

"Yes, I thought perhaps you could be allowed access to the palantír whenever you feel the need to speak to your family. My father shall be the one formally granting you this permission, yet till he is back in Fornost, consider yourself free to use the stone."

Fíriel blinked, processing what Arvedui had just said. She knew the king of Arthedain possessed palantíri, however she would never have dared to request using them herself, for the access to these stones was strictly regulated. Even a princess like her rarely had the occasion to see them, it was even less likely she'd ever use them.

"Are you certain your father would agree to this?" she wondered, slightly worried.

"You are a princess of Gondor and my wife-to-be, surely you can be trusted with the Stone, cannot you? It is a privilege given to few, yet I deem you deserve it," he explained and although he did his best to sound pragmatic, it was strange to pronounce those words, _wife-to-be_ , while speaking to Fíriel.

"Once again, it seems I should thank you, Arvedui."

"Do not, Fíriel. It is but the bare minimum to let you dispose of the palantír."

"I told you already, I appreciate the thought," she insisted.

This time Arvedui smiled and briefly his face lighted up, revealing a beauty Fíriel had not suspected – it was a brief image of Westernesse, like the memory of the old Kings.

* * *

There were hundreds of steps for them to climb to reach the top of the tower, where the palantír was stored, and during the ascension, Arvedui was strangely aware of Fíriel's presence, right behind him. It had been a pleasant surprise to hear her thank him and it had also felt rewarding, which was something he had not expected at all – he could not quite get the image of her beaming off his head. What had really unsettled him, however, was his own name, the way she had said it, softly and nicely, and it sounded no more like she was talking to a stranger.

When they entered the room where the Stone was kept, Arvedui exchanged a few words with the deputy who was on duty and soon the man left, leaving the prince and the princess alone. Fíriel's gaze had instantly fallen on the palantír and she felt drawn to it – set in a depression made of marble, it glowed eerily. Its size was surprising, for it was big and a single man, however strong, would have been unable to lift it without help.

"This one had been placed in Amon Sûl, but the tower was destroyed by Angmar, centuries ago, and since then the Stone has been here… The stone of Annúminas is also stored in Fornost and it is also used, although rarely to communicate with Gondor. This one is more powerful, as you can guess," Arvedui explained. "Do you know how to proceed?"

"I oft saw my father using the Stone, it ever seemed simple… However, I must admit I do not know how to proceed. Should I stand in front of it and concentrate?" inquired Fíriel glancing at him, unsure.

"The best spot is three feet away from it, facing South… Right here," he said, gesturing her to move.

"And?"

"Think of your father, it should be enough for you to connect with the other Stone." And stepping back, he went to stand in a corner, wishing to give Fíriel some privacy – anyhow, he would be unable to intercept her conversation with her father, for the King of Gondor would not allow it and Arvedui could not yet match his skills at using the palantír.

For a few long minutes, Fíriel stayed still, staring at the palantír, and she thought she looked silly. At first the orb looked cold and unwilling to interact with the princess and it crossed her mind she perhaps did not possess the power to use it. Yet as minutes passed by, the palantír's smooth surface slowly changed: black turned into grey and what appeared to be clouds swirled around the sphere, eventually dissolving. By then, Fíriel could not take her eyes off the Stone, enthralled by the sceneries that were unraveling before her – she recognized the green plains of Emnet, the silver waves of Anduin, high white peaks of Ered Nimrais. And gleaming under the Sun, there it was, Minas Anor, its seven walls, its citadel, its White Tree…

Tears rolled down her cheeks as the palantír showed her the familiar silhouette of the corridors of the palace, where she had lived her whole life, and when at last it zoomed into the room where the palantír was kept, she exclaimed "Father!"

"There is no need to speak out loud, the Stone will convey your thoughts," Arvedui told her in a whisper and that Fíriel already knew.

"I could not help it…" she muttered, her cheeks reddening.

Yet the man standing in front of the stone was not the King, but the scholar appointed to the palantír.

 _Princess! Princess Fíriel, what a marvel to see you!_

 _Is… is my father in Minas Anor perchance?_

 _He is, my Lady. He came back from Pelargir yesterday. I shall go inform him immediately that you wish to speak to him._ And before going away, he stopped and asked, _Is everything alright, my Lady?_

 _Yes, everything is perfectly fine._

She quickly wiped away her tears, straightening.

 _Father!_

She had suppressed a little scream when King Ondoher's face had appeared in the palantír and it did require her great effort not to start crying.

 _Fíriel, my dear little girl! We received news of your arrival through the Stone, yet I had not hoped to see you myself… I… I thought I should not be too intrusive, even though your mother insisted on checking on you daily._

It was much like his father to blame his mother for being too protective, as if he had not been overly worried himself.

 _There is no need for that, Father. You and Mother should not worry, I am quite fine._

 _I do not doubt the people of Arthedain welcomed you warmly, however I wished you would have spent Winter here. You escort would have been more important, had you departed in Spring, as planned._

 _It is only a few months before they all come here and Winter is harsher in these lands, it is better I get accustomed to it as fast as possible._

 _Of course… Fíriel, how are you?_

 _I am well, Father._

She found it was much more difficult to conceal her feelings when communicating through the palantír, but hopefully Fíriel was having an excellent day so far.

 _I do miss home. I miss you, I miss Mother, and Artamir, and Faramir. But I am doing well here, the Queen is very good to me and makes sure I lack nothing._

 _You could have said no, you know that, do you not?_

There was no denying Gondor would benefit this alliance – perhaps it was a little less advantageous for South than it was for the North – yet King Ondoher still thought sending his daughter away was a high price to pay. And truth was, had she not so bravely agreed to the wedding, he would have gladly found another way to seal the pact between Gondor and Arthedain.

 _Was it now about time the line of Isildur and the line of Anarion reunited?_

 _Surely our two kingdoms needed to mend their disagreements, yet we could have succeeded without you marrying King Araphant's son._

 _No ties are stronger that those of family, Father._

 _Indeed… You are brave, Fíriel, do remember this. You are as brave as can be your brothers._

She nodded, biting her lip not to tear up, and decided she would not waste this precious time with her father whining about Fornost, Arthedain or the new alliance. She wanted to hear about her mother, her brothers and all her friends of Gondor, and so King Ondoher engaged in detailed account of the events that had followed her departure.

In his corner, Arvedui glanced from time to time at Fíriel and he did so discreetly – he had given up on using the palantír himself that day. In the Stone, he could see the face of King Ondoher, with whom he had talked often over the last year, yet never had the King looked so concerned before. It was obvious he loved his daughter dearly and this made Arvedui glad of his decision to let the princess use the palantír, even though he knew his father would not approve of it. He had sort of lied about this, when talking to the princess, but he would take care of it later.

Hours later, as Fíriel bade King Ondoher goodbye, sending him kisses with her hands in a tender gesture, Arvedui promised himself to allow her free access to the Stone during all Winter. And when his father would be back in Fornost, he'd consider sneaking her in the room, in secret, if that was what she needed to be happy.

* * *

I did read about palantíri, but I don't know if I depicted this realistically (if I may say!). But since it was most likelly how Arthedain and Gondor came up with the alliance, I see no reason why Fíriel could not use the Stone to talk to her family...


	5. A Family Dinner

**Celridel** : Thank you :)

I must say, I like this chapter. I wrote parts of it well before I even wrote chapter 4.

Ah and soon we'll get to the serious part, the betrothal and the wedding :)

* * *

 **A Family Dinner  
**

Fíriel spent her mornings in the Queen's company, helping her managing the current affairs, and she also took part in the councils that were held in the palace. Often, they walked through the street of Fornost, for Queen Gilwen was close to her people and she especially loved to visit the families of the soldiers who were away, under the command of her husband.

Arvedui was never too far, yet as laconic as ever. He seemed to have business of his own, especially in the barracks, but he also followed the Queen and Fíriel during their walks in the city. Like his mother, he was much appreciated by the people and more than once was he warmly congratulated for his upcoming wedding. Fíriel had thought the fact they shared a secret – her visits to the palantír – would have brought them closer, yet it did not. The only thing she was sure of was that he cared a little about her well-being and that their marriage would most likely not be a complete disaster. So far, however, she could hardly fathom how they would end up having children together and it was still a strange notion to her.

Afternoons were devoted to walks with Meldis and hours of work in the green houses, where Fíriel had started a thorough cleaning. At first, her love of botany was discreetly scorned by many, including the chamberlain Cirion and a few of the ladies with whom she used to embroider. Although, after a few weeks, there was nothing more amusing to say about the princess and her fondness of the plants, and everyone in the King's halls seemed to have become accepting of Fíriel's hobby. And at the core of Winter, when snowstorms hit the city every three or four days, Fíriel and Meldis found they had made new friends, unknowingly.

They did help greatly with clearing the greenhouses and they believed it was very entertaining to get their hands dirty for once, although they always carried dozens of finely embroidered handkerchiefs with them – these were finally put to good use. Yet once all the unwanted plants had been removed and all those that had grown too much, reduced to a decent size, Fíriel did not know anymore what to do with these ladies who insisted on learning more about botany. She was not herself a true scholar, but more of an amateur who had had the chance to learn from the most renowned masters of Gondor.

In Arthedain, there were few herbalists and gardeners who could remember the days when the greenhouses had still been well tended to and all of them were quite old. Fíriel had already bid her father to send some of his specialists in Spring, for she could sense precious plants had been kept in Fornost and she wanted to know as much as possible about them. In the heart of the biggest of the greenhouses, whose roof reached nigh 30 Rangar, Fíriel discovered a tree unlike any others and though it had suffered some damages over the last decades, she was almost sure it was a Laurinquë, a golden-flower tree from Númenor.

It caused quite a stir when it was known the Gondorian princess had uncovered such a precious treasure from the abandoned greenhouses and the number of ladies interested in botany doubled within days – even the lords were now curious about it. And even though Fíriel felt a little overwhelmed by all this new company, it amused her greatly that her weird hobby had drawn such attention on her.

"It seems I shall the tell the ladies of Gondor to stay there, for I found myself a new entourage," said Fíriel to Meldis, one evening, when the two of them were finally alone in the greenhouses.

"What puzzles me is that a lady like you, of such high rank, has been sent alone in a foreign kingdom," her friend said.

"I chose to leave earlier, whereas it was planned for me to come to Arthedain in Spring, right before the betrothal. Thus, my escort was small, consisting of maids and squires for the most part… Some of my Gondorian companions shall arrive for my wedding, along with a few of my father's advisers who wish to learn more about the North."

"There shall be quite a number of Gondorians in these halls, then. Hopefully there are several empty rooms here."

"Is it not what both kingdoms wish for? To strengthen the ties of their new alliance?"

"Apparently, although you should understand that for Northerners, Gondor is nothing more than a faraway land they hear from once or twice a decade," Meldis explained, flipping through the pages of a thick volume of botany, searching for a description of a sapling all gardeners had failed to identify so far. "Your wedding shall be a great event for us, far greater than anything that has ever happened in Arthedain, I daresay."

"Surely there have been more noteworthy events happening in Arthedain than a royal wedding."

"Even for a royal wedding, it is an exceptional wedding," said Meldis lifting her head to look at Fíriel. "You would know that, princess, would you not?"

"I suppose," said Fíriel, pouting. She still wondered what this exceptional wedding would bring to Gondor if she proved unable to impose herself in Fornost. She was slowly adapting to her new home, yet she could not pretend she had dazzled anyone with her flaming charisma or her witty remarks…

"It is still odd to hear this word, is it not?"

"What word?"

"Wedding."

"Oh… it does seem unreal, I must say," muttered Fíriel pensively. "Even though it is but a few months away…"

"Was… Was there someone you loved in Gondor…?" Meldis did not mean to pry, but she had long wondered about this. The princess had not so much as hinted she could have been longing for a young Gondorian man, however it seemed a plausible possibility.

"No, and I have to admit I was never too preoccupied by matrimonial matters… "

"Is that customary for princesses not to chose their spouse?"

"I am not familiar about the customs in the North, yet in Gondor, I would have been given some freedom about the choice of my spouse," said Fíriel, scratching her chin as she pondered. "Of course, I would have been expected to pick a young man belonging to one of the noble houses of the Kingdom. Perhaps some lord of the house of Húrin, or some distant cousin of mine…"

"I did imagine you would have a more lavish lifestyle," Meldis said, pushing aside the botany volume, given up on her researches. "And at least a dozen of handsome suitors."

"Pray, are you disappointed?"

"No, of course not. If anything, I feel relieved. I believe I would have been a disastrous companion for a lavish princess."

"It would have been my loss, I suppose," said Fíriel, beaming at her friend.

"Indeed," chuckled Meldis, linking her arm to the princess'. "Shall we go for a stroll, now? It is surprisingly warm for this time of the year."

It was beautiful month of February and they had seen the Sun more than usual – that meant that the forces of Angmar had weakened early and that the King would finally comeback to Fornost.

* * *

And in fact, Fíriel's quiet routine was soon interrupted. That day she was savoring a cup of tea, in the company of Meldis, and as usual she was amazed by the rich taste of her hot beverage – tea was surely something they did better in the North. However, her gourmet's appreciation ended abruptly when the door of her parlor burst open.

"Fíriel, Meldis, good morning my young ladies!" the Queen exclaimed, entering the room in a flutter of velvet dresses.

"My Lady, I was not expecting to see you so early," said Fíriel, rising.

"Sit down, my dear, I did not mean to disturb you during your breakfast," said Queen Gilwen, smiling, and she stroke Fíriel's hair gently.

"Would you like to join us perhaps, my Lady?" inquired Meldis.

"I already had my fair share of honey bread today, but thank you," replied Queen Gilwen, patting Meldis's shoulder. "I only meant to share some exciting news with you both, my sweet girls."

For a split second, Fíriel feared another merrymaking would be thrown in her honor, but the Queen had something completely different to announce.

"The King is on his way here, he should be back within the week!" She was smiling so brightly that the young women felt compelled to express an enthusiasm they did not quite feel.

"It is wonderful, my Lady," said Fíriel.

"Oh, my Lady, you must be so happy!" Meldis exclaimed. She knew not well the King, but she recalled the Queen was overly fond of her husband. And her parents had made sure to tell her to always be very courteous whenever the King was involved.

"I am, indeed, I am," the Queen, clasping her hands together. "I'm afraid I shall be quite busy till my husband's return, for I need to tidy up this place!"

"Perhaps I could lend you a hand, my Lady…? Fíriel offered.

"Do not bother, my dear, I can handle this alone."

"Alright…"

And off the Queen was, leaving behind her a trail of flowery perfume.

* * *

The King and his men entered Fornost at the sunset and it was quite a sight to behold, for their armours and helms shone brightly and they marched in a long line. Aside from the colors of their banners, they looked like Gondorians soldiers and it seemed the Dúnedain had kept similar military traditions despite centuries of separation. The only noteworthy difference was their numbers, for there were less Northerners than Southerners, and Fíriel wondered if how many men were still stationed on the border. And, of course, there was the King – this one was not her father.

King Araphant was an impressive man who wore what appeared to be a bear fur on his wide shoulders. He looked like a wilder version of Arvedui and that was saying much, for Fíriel was still under the impression that her husband-to-be was more fit in the field than in the palace. Yet the father had darker hair, a longer beard and there were scars on his calloused hands – at least he appeared like the kind of man who could protect his kingdom.

Fíriel was impressed by King Araphant's formidable silhouette, although not as much as she had thought. She recalled Arvedui had looked more intimidating at first, yet that was perhaps because she had known she would marry him. The King, however, was just a king, like her own father, and she believed that if Queen Gilwen treated her so well, there was no reason for her future father-in-law not to be equally gracious with her.

She did notice something peculiar in the way King Araphant greeted his wife and his son. Both times it was a brief, distant embrace, and he was still gazing elsewhere, as if searching for someone who was not there. Was the king of Arthedain simply reluctant to display his feelings in public? Yet even after, when they all found themselves in his private parlor, Fíriel saw not King Araphant hold his wife's hands, or whisper a few words in his son's ears as her father would do when he was back from expeditions – he was ever so happy to be reunited with his family.

"Fíriel, I daresay I was quite looking forwards meeting you and it has saddened me greatly for not having been able to greet you myself, the day you arrived in Fornost." "Although, from what I have gathered you have settled in well here and even Winter has failed to deter you to leave."

Winter in Fornost had changed her definition of cold indeed, otherwise she had enjoyed the snow and the evenings spent by the fire, drinking hot tea. Truth was, Winter had been unexpectedly cozy and she did not associate yet with the danger that Angmar represented.

"It has been a pleasure to dwell in your halls, my Lord," she said, "Queen Gilwen and Prince Arvedui have been most gracious hosts."

"How great! I would not want your father to regret sending you here."

"Speaking of which, my Lord, I came in these lands to be wedded to your son, yet I also represent my father's kingdom and its interests," declared Fíriel, managing to stare at King Araphant the whole time.

"Well then, young lady, I shall make sure to consult you when required," and there was something a little sardonic about the King's smile that Fíriel did not like, but she said nothing more on that matter.

For the rest of the dinner, Queen Gilwen took upon herself to distract everyone, telling the King what had happened in Fornost during the last months and explaining to Fíriel why Arthedain's borders needed to be guarded – the prince knew everything about it already. It was astonishing how the Queen had only eyes for her husband, catering to his every need and beaming whenever he spoke to her. Fíriel had never seen her act so feverishly and she wondered if she would end up being like that with Arvedui, or if she would be more like own mother, caring, but calmer.

But what was more unsettling was Arvedui's attitude. His voice was seldom heard, although that was nothing out of the ordinary, but instead of displaying his usual stern expression, he looked annoyed. Perhaps he felt slightly resentful, for his father had ordered him to stay in Fornost with the women, or perhaps he was crossed _his_ cup of wine was still empty, in any case, he spent most of the time brooding in his corner of the table.

This dinner was quite different from what Fíriel had expected and, upon the realization that the four of them would share many more meals to come, she suppressed a sigh.

* * *

After dinner, it was just the three of them: father, mother and son. There was no effusion of joy, no secret celebration, however Queen Gilwen poured three glasses of plum liquor, for it was her husband's favorite. King Araphant was seated by the fire, feet resting on a*, and he shot his son a glance – Arvedui

"Cirion described her as discreet, although he does not know if her humbleness if feigned or not, and your mother said she was sweet, but coming from her it barely means anything… How would you describe her, Arvedui?"

"Comely," answered the prince, shrugging. It was a harmless word, he thought.

"She is comely indeed, although I was expecting a classic beauty, something more Númenórean. I certainly hope my grandchildren won't inherit these ridiculous freckles of hers and perhaps if their hair could be darker, like yours... brown is too common. At least, it does seem she is healthy, she shall bear you many children. If only she was taller though, does she not look small to you? I hear Gondorians have married with folks from Eriador, would the royal family have mingled with these people as well?"

The King's tone was casual, as if his interrogations were genuine, however Arvedui knew his father was not concerned with Fíriel's appearance. Him pointing out flaws was just his way to make his son understood he was not to get too attached to his bride, that he was not to forget to whom he had sworn his loyalty. To him, the princess was a pawn, a mere pawn whose move had helped him seal a fruitful alliance. And even though he was looking forward having grandchildren, and especially a grandson, he beware of his daughter-in-law and of her family, for he believed they might attempt to thwart his authority. Gondor was far more powerful than Arthedain and could turn out to be a cumbersome ally. Thus, the King wished to limit Fíriel's influence on his court, starting with his own son.

"What do you fear, Father? That our child might not look kingly enough to rule? Perhaps it is why I shall be the last King… because my son will be like one of those men from Eriador, weak and short-lived," he said grumpily and he certainly did not care about his future offspring's hair color.

"Once again, you are losing your temper, Arvedui, and you spat words you might regret later. I merely stated it would be better if my grandson was to be more akin to you than to your bride-to-be… Surely you cannot blame me for having a simple preference?" the King said while Queen Gilwen was pouring liquor in the cup he had swiftly emptied.

His mother, as usual, said nothing to contradict her husband, despite the genuine fondness she felt towards Fíriel. It angered him to see her comply so easily to the King – how meek could she be in his presence!

"She is of Anarion's line, you could have never hoped for more noble daughter-in-law," retorted Arvedui who was starting to feel rather weary.

"Indeed, yet it seems they, unlike us, have failed preserving the blood of Westernesse," softly uttered King Araphant, as he was gazing at the fire.

Arvedui knew his father was no fool, he was aware Arthedain faced much more difficulties than Gondor, for it lacked the great resources of the South. It was his pride speaking, his useless pride… as if it could save him and his kingdom.

"But do not worry, dear son, I shall be very nice to Fíriel," sneered the King, staring straight into his son's eyes. "As long she forgets about her ambition to become an ambassador and that her influence is limited to the plants growing in the greenhouses, I should have no reason to complain."

"Oh Father, why must your head be filled with such ridiculous schemes! Gondor will never attempt to steal your throne!" Arvedui growled and, glancing at his mother who pretended to be absorbed very deeply by the tapestries, he left the room, shutting the door loudly behind him.

It was not the first time father and son quarrelled and Fíriel's presence in Fornost was just another pretense to fight. King Araphant saw Arvedui as his precious son, his one and only heir, and he did love him, even though those words had never been said, or suggested. Yet he felt resentful too, for it was because of Arvedui that the prophecy had been pronounced, and perhaps one day it would be his fault if Arthedain disappeared – or worst, if the line of Isildur ended. Thus, the King was prone to mood swings, due to his ambiguous feelings, and perhaps also because of his own helplessness. Arvedui had long learned to distance himself from his father, considering him his King, but no more. He was a good man and he preferred to spend his energy defending the kingdom, his people and honoring his ancestors.

His mother was kind, of course, but not as strong-willed as he would have liked and oft his father had taken advantage of this. She was so devoted to her husband, she had always refused to take sides when King Araphant and Arvedui argued and her son could not quite forgive her for letting him down on so many occasions. He did love her though, he really did, and he would sometime blame himself for not protecting her, for not making her life easier. But he had never found the words to tell her all this…

Never had he known what it was like to have a loving family and, truth be told, every time he had seen Fíriel use the palantír to talk to her father, mother and to brothers, bitterness had overwhelmed him.

He did envy her, in a way, for she missed so dearly her home – he would have wanted to know how it felt.


	6. An Old Prophecy

**Celridel:** thank you :)

 **Nanold:** They're slow, but they'll start to warm to each other soon enough! And I wanted his father not to be nice, so I thought he should be a bit mean from the start. On the other hand, he is not evil, he just has some issues, I'll try to work on him more. Since I hadn't really planned on writing a long story some stuff needs to be adjusted.

The way I wrote this chapter was so messy, I hope it does not show too much when reading it o.o

* * *

 **Chapter 6 – An Old Prophecy  
**

During the days following the King's return in Fornost, Fíriel had to face the fact she was not getting along well with her father-in-law. She could not pinpoint exactly what it was about his behavior that made her feel this way, but she was under the impression he had a poor opinion of her and she did not understand why. She certainly could not have disappointed him so quickly and, after having shared a few dinners with him, the Queen and Arvedui, she started suspecting it was nothing personal – the King simply seemed to think Fíriel was of no use to him or his people, aside from securing the alliance with Gondor and, eventually, giving birth to his grandchildren.

The princess had however no intention to be put aside so easily and she had really meant it when she had said she wanted to be her father's voice in the North. For the time being, she was remaining silent on the issue, having decided to wait for the right opportunity to voice her opinion on the North and South newly rekindled relations. Apparently, a great counsel was to be held in early March, mere days before her brothers would arrive in Arthedain, and Fíriel had already in mind a few ideas she wanted to expose – nothing too extraordinary, just some observations she had written down since she had come in Fornost.

She was planning to mention this counsel during dinner, although she was careful, for she knew that, with the King, the best strategy would be to tackle the matter sideways. Yet she had no idea King Araphant had already made sure she not disturb his well ordered routine.

"I was told the princes of Gondor have reached Bree, which means the betrothal will take place within a fortnight, as it has been decided," announced the King, one evening. "I believe everything is ready for the merrymakings? I would not want our prestigious hosts to feel neglected in any way."

"We have gathered all that is needed to make it a grand feast, and greater even shall be the wedding," said Queen Gilwen, as she beamed – he had been working on these festivities for months now.

"I trust your words, for I know no woman who handles all these domestic hassles so well as you do," King Araphant said and he turned to Fíriel. "Count yourself lucky, Fíriel, my wife has indeed unparalleled skills when it comes to managing a palace, and she shall pass you down all her knowledge. And what a relief it is for a King to leave behind his halls with the assurance they are in good hands."

"I dearly hope I shall become as capable as the Queen is," said the princess, doing her best to smile despite being very displeased – the King always insinuated ladies could do no better than sewing and ordering servants.

"Fear not, my sweet Fíriel, you are quite an excellent pupil," Queen Gilwen piped, her eyes gleaming.

"I did enjoy taking care of current affairs along your side, my Lady," Fíriel replied, and she added, innocently, "Perhaps I could also attend the King's counsel once in a while, for I believe that is where important matters are discussed, is it not?"

As she sipped from her cup of wine, Fíriel stared at the King, yet upon seeing a condescending smile spread on his face, she understood it would not be easy.

"Fíriel, the next counsel will be held some time after your wedding, perhaps then I shall remember to notify you."

"Was not there one planned to be held within the next days?" the princess insisted.

"We held one yesterday, indeed."

"Why was I not informed of this? I would have liked to be there," Fíriel exclaimed, her face flushed with disappointment.

"Would you? Arvedui told me you had shown no interest in these _serious_ matters, though had I known you wanted a seat at the counsel, I would have invited you, princess," the King said, waving his hand dismissively.

Her insides boiling with anger, Fíriel sent an inquisitive look at Arvedui.

"We discussed warfare strategies, I'm afraid it can be quite obscure for a newcomer," said the prince and it seemed he had perceived Fíriel's displeasure.

"If I am always put aside, I shall never be more than a newcomer."

"Worry not, Fíriel, you will soon find your place in these halls," sneered King Araphant.

Arvedui glared at his father, but Fíriel did not notice it, for she was already storming out of the room, slamming the door behind her. She could not hear anymore the King taunt her, pretending he cared, when he would likely never take her seriously.

"Perhaps she is not as shy as we all think she was," the King said, gulping the rest of his wine cup.

The Queen's smile had long vanished and for a moment, she wanted to go after Fíriel – what if the poor thing was crying in her chambers? However, Arvedui was faster and, rising from his seat, he exclaimed, "Father, do remember you are a King and do act like one!"

King Araphant shrugged, staring at the fire crackling in the chimney while his son left the room to follow his bride-to-be.

* * *

It was the first time Arvedui entered the greenhouses ever since they had been cleared and he was pleasantly surprised by the smell of moist soil and green leaves that came tickling his nose. Remarkable work had been done there already, even though he could tell there was much left to, for plants took years and years to grow and reach their full potential – and this slow steadiness was what he liked most about greenery.

He found her sitting on a bench, by a small fountain that still had to be repaired and that was full of dust instead of being full of water. She was gazing at the trees in front her, absentmindedly, but even then her brow was frowned and she was drumming her fingers nervously on her lap. Looking at her from afar, Arvedui felt a tinge of pity for Fíriel, for she seemed so lonely and so fragile and she was so far from her home… On top of that, she surely did not need to deal with his father's terrible temper.

He was not anxious he had to apologize, for he thought he had done her wrong, yet he was worried he would not find the right words to do it properly. When he had to hearten soldiers, he did it with some skills, but he certainly could not use the same methods with Fíriel. Truth was, he had little experience with ladies and despite having been acquainted to her months ago, he knew not how to proceed with her. Whatever he had wanted to do for her so far, he had done it through his mother or Meldis, or some servants, but he barely ever was involved himself – except for the palantír, although this too had not required great efforts from his part.

But this time, he had to face her himself and he would do it well.

"Fíriel," Arvedui softly said, as he shifted towards her. "Fíriel, it was tactless of me to assume you would not wish to take part in this counsel…"

"Tactless?" she blurted, getting on her feet. "Pray, why do you think I am so vexed it did not occur to you to include me in these deliberations?"

"I reckon you should be kept informed of the decisions taken as part of the alliance," the prince replied and while his face wore his usual stern expression, he was genuinely repentant.

Fíriel snorted, crossing her arms across her chest. "Then to you I am really just the price Gondor paid to rekindle the friendship between the Dúnedain."

"No, Fíriel, I would not– "

"You and your father seemed convinced I should stick to domestic affairs and that I am only good at making sure fires still burn in chimneys while you are away campaigning… And while I understand I should be able to run this palace in your absence, I do also believe I could do a little more than managing the kitchens! This wedding is unlike any other, not because you are a prince, not because I am a princess, but… but because this is our chance to reopen the roads between our kingdoms – not just so soldiers can travel faster. Artisans, merchants, anyone who wishes to should be able do to journey from one kingdom to another. We should share knowledge and wealth too… And to achieve this, you cannot afford to put me aside!"

She had raised her hand, pointing her forefinger at him, just like she did when she was lecturing one of her brothers. Even though she was the youngest, she happened to be bossy with them at times.

Bewildered, Arvedui took a few seconds to process Fíriel's speech and the way she had delivered it. He had never heard her speak so much and he had surely not expected this rather authoritarian side of her – not that it displeased him.

"Fíriel, I did not…" he whispered, moving closer to her. "I supposed you would rather not be too involved with these matters..."

"Oh, I daresay it never even crossed your mind that I had other talents than embroidery," said Fíriel, scowling. 'Yet I do enjoy hunting, I do enjoy spending days out in the wild, and I do love trees and plants, and not just because they are pretty!"

"Indeed, it did not cross my mind, it did not…" Arvedui paused, staring at her. "I bid you to forgive me, Fíriel, for I greatly misjudge you and… I ought to have been wiser."

Fíriel's arms flopped by her side and after having considered Arvedui for a while, she let herself fall back on the bench. "I am sorry, I was rude…" she sighed, rubbing her face in her hands. "I have been keeping so much thoughts to myself lately, it was bound to burst at some point… Yet it is unfair you should take all the blame."

"I deserve it, though," said Arvedui, sitting by her side. "You have been dwelling in these halls for months and I have not once bothered to ask you how you felt about this situation."

"You have treated me well enough." Fíriel admitted – now that he was close to her, she could not be angry anymore. "And I never sought your company either."

"Then, we are even," said Arvedui, smiling. "And I shall be honest with you, Fíriel. You and I have the same opinion regarding the possibilities this wedding enables for both our kingdoms."

"Do we?" Fíriel turned to him, strangely hopeful.

"I sincerely wish for this alliance to last long after our enemies are defeated."

There was a short silence between them during which Arvedui was wondering if he had convinced Fíriel he was on her side. The princess, on the other hand, was still thinking about King Araphant.

"Why would your father form an alliance with Gondor if he is beware of us?" she inquired and she was not sure she could explain to Arvedui what was odd about the King's behavior.

"He is no fool, Fíriel, he knows the Witch-King is a mighty foe and that we are no more than the _remnants_ of a great kingdom… We are in dire need of allies and the Dúnedain of South naturally seems to be our best chance."

"That I understand, and as it happens Gondor struggles under the attacks of the Wainriders… Yet, if I may say, your father, he… does not share our enthusiasm for this alliance, does he?"

It was Arvedui's turn to heave a sigh. "My father is obsessed by the prophecy, he has been brooding about it for decades and it tends to overshadow his judgement at times. He doubts everything and… this is mostly why it has been hard to convince him to seal this alliance with Gondor. He sees every event as a possible threat that will somehow lead our kingdom to its end."

Of course, Fíriel knew what prophecy he was referring to, form back in Minas Anor, she had been told why the man she was to wed was named 'The last king'. However, she had not yet realized how it could affect her own life, or that of the prince and the King of Arthedain. And thus, it was in a low voice, as if fearing she was about to say something foolish, that she asked, "I am not as familiar with the prophecy as you must be, yet are there not two paths offered to you and your people? Does it not contain some hope, if only a little?"

" _Arvedui you shall call him, for he will be the last in Arthedain. Though a choice will come to the Dúnedain, and if they take the one that seems less hopeful, then your son will change his name and become king of a great realm. If not, then much sorrow and many lives of men shall pass, until the Dúnedain arise and are united again_ ," recited Arvedui, sternly. "As all prophecies, it is vague enough that I cannot know for sure what choice should carefully be considered... And my father has long been convinced I shall fail him."

"It is hard to decipher, indeed… How could you become King of greater realm?" Fíriel wondered out loud, pouting.

"I suppose I could manage to rally Cardolan and Rhudaur to Arthedain and rule over the whole territory of Arnor."

"By defeating the Witch-King?"

"Presumably."

"Then the alliance with Gondor would not be what seems _less hopeful_ , would it not? Perhaps it why your father is wary, on one hand he needs help, on the other, seeking it might bring _much sorrow_ …." said Fíriel and she thought it was awfully complicated to interpret a prophecy.

"Are you looking for a way to get out of this marriage, princess?"

"No, it's not… no," she stuttered, taken aback.

"Worry not, Fíriel, I'm afraid it was just a poor attempt at lightening the mood," Arvedui said, a sheepish smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "Though you are right, the alliance does not appear to be the _less hopeful_ option… Yet it is not a choice that came to us either, it is a decision we took on our own."

Still a little puzzled, Fíriel nodded. "What also strikes me is that the prophecy refers to the Dúnedain, all of them apparently. A choice that would come to us all and affect us all… And why would you change your name? How could you know you have ceased to be the last king?"

"Fíriel, trust me, I spent years and years pondering over these words. My father did too, and many of our wisest counsellors as well... And it has proved useless, completely useless. I believe we shall know it the day we are to face this choice and until then… defending the kingdom against the forces of Angmar should be sufficient."

"Arvedui… I hope you shall trust me when this day comes, for I do want to help you," said Fíriel, doing her best not sound too silly.

It was the first time Arvedui considered her as Fíriel, simply Fíriel. Not the princess of Gondor, not his future bride… just Fíriel, a young lady who sat by his side, quietly listening to his rambling about an obscure prophecy that might one day ruin his life, and, most likely, hers too. And it felt good not to be alone anymore.

"Thank you, Fíriel, thank you…" said Arvedui, taking her hand in his. "It is a great relief to know someone will stand by my side the day this choice comes upon us."

She remained silent, yet she squeezed his hand gently.

* * *

In mid-March, Artamir and Faramir's arrival caused quite a commotion in Fornost. They had traveled with many Gondorians and it was thus the first time in centuries the North and the South officially met. The bright banners of Gondor twinkled under the Spring's Sun and it warmed Fíriel's heart to see so many of her people entering the King's hall, although her bliss was far more discreet than the elation of the people of Arthedain who had assembled along the road to greet the Gondorians. And the princes met every expectation the Northerners had had, for they truly were their kingdom's most precious treasures.

Artamir looked most like King Ondoher, whether it was his temper or his silhouette, and it was often said he could have walked unnoticed among Númenóreans, for such was the majesty he exalted. He made an excellent impression on the people of Arthedain who saw in him the living proof this alliance was truly worth it. Next to his elder brother, Faramir stood taller, although he was also leaner and his beard had yet to be as luscious as Artamir's. Of the three siblings, he was the one who had most took after their mother and like her his hair was auburn and his eyes, sparkling blue. He did have a few freckles, but nothing to be frowned upon by King Araphant who welcomed the princes as if they were long lost relatives – and indeed that was what they were.

The siblings were obviously very fond of each other and as soon as the princes were done with formal greetings, they turned to their sister who launched herself on them, oblivious of the etiquette – it was such a genuine display of love that it even brought a smile on the King's face. Artamir planted a big kiss on his sister's forehead, hugging her for a good while, till Faramir stole her from him and did not let her go, or at least not until he was completely sure the Northerners had done her no harm. For the rest of the day, they remained close to one another, holding hands and occasionally bursting into laughter, for reasons only known to themselves.

Later, Fíriel would be unable to recall any details regarding the banquet that was held to welcome her brothers. She was far too happy to be with them to notice anything and for a few hours she even forgot about her dear Meldis and the greenhouses. All that mattered was that Artamir and Faramir were with her and they had brought with them so many Gondorians, the halls of King Araphant bore a resemblance to those of her father.

* * *

Between Arvedui, Artamir and Faramir, there was instant recognition and from the moment they met, they became inseparable. It seemed the alliance had been made for them more than for their fathers, and that it was the three of them who would succeed in defeating the Witch-King and the Wainriders.

It was seeing Arvedui with her brothers that made reconsider her opinion of the prince, although since their conversation in the greenhouses, she had been observing him more attentively. Walking in the King's halls with Artamir and Faramir, he seemed rejuvenated and Fíriel wondered how things would have been between them if she had been introduced to him just then – the Queen would not have had to warn her about her son looking a tad 'gruff'.

And since she also followed her brothers around, she finally spent some time with Arvedui and that lead her to notice quite an amount of small details she had never payed attention to before. He was a handsome man, perhaps just not in a way most ladies could appreciate – not in a way Fíriel had been able to appreciate so far. There was something _quietly_ regal about him, for he possessed natural authority and never had to raise his voice to be heard. However, he treated everyone equally, addressing servants and lords with the same polite detachment and discussing as seriously with children than with adults.

And, as much as Fíriel could tell, Arvedui was an excellent swordfighter, judging by the way he spar with her brothers. Every morning, the princes gathered in the barracks to train and on a few occasions Fíriel went to watch them, as she sometimes did in Minas Anor. And one day, not long before the betrothal was to take place, the King himself came to keep her company.

"It comes as no surprise they get along so well, Arvedui worked hard for this alliance to happen."

Fíriel was slightly startled, for she had expected Meldis to join her, and not King Araphant. Yet she managed to nod, still gazing at her brothers and at Arvedui.

"To tell you the truth, and since you soon will be part of the family you should now, I was not so eager myself to go ahead with this alliance," admitted the King and for once he did not sound ironic at all.

Fíriel had guessed this already, nonetheless she asked quietly, "What is it that displeases you, my Lord?"

"Not the wedding, if this is what worries you, for I would rather have Arvedui marry you than this foolish girl from Cardolan he considered taking as a wife some time ago… Yet the prospect of a foreign army stepping onto my territories can hardly fill me with joy."

"But, my Lord, does not Arthedain need help?"

"Sadly, it does…" King Araphant muttered and his expression was unreadable.

"They shan't come if you do not call them."

Whatever emotion had seized him seconds ago the King chased away and he smiled, full of disdain. "Indeed, the soldiers will only come if I beg for them. Engineers and scholars, on the other hand, have arrived with your brothers… and more of your people shall come with your mother, for the wedding."

"Do you perhaps fear the whole kingdom will attend the celebrations, my Lord?" Fíriel inquired and she made great effort not to sound angry.

"What I fear is that your kingdom swallows mine."

"Should not rather you fear Angmar swallows Arthedain?"

"I fear that too," sadly whispered King Araphant, before he turned his back to the princess and left her to ponder alone.

Long after the King was gone, Fíriel stayed to watch her brothers and Arvedui spar. At first, she was still trying to figure what kind of person King Araphant was – arrogant and vain, yet somehow lucid –, then her attention shifted on Arvedui, almost unknowingly. Swordplay was not something she was especially curious about, although she found it graceful, almost like dancing. The master at arms would have been disappointed, had he known the princess was mostly staring at her soon-to-be husband, and not at the technical prowess the princes displayed – he would complain women, even the noblest ones, had no understanding of warfare.

Yet Fíriel did not care about the swords, and she had forgotten about King Araphant's bad temper, for she was wrapped up in her thoughts. Mere days before her betrothal, it dawned upon her she had developed tender feelings for Arvedui. She was not yet ready to call it love – this was still a strange notion to her –, but she did blush when he greeted her that day.

* * *

I'm sorry I did such a lame pun when I said the princes were their country's most precious treasures. The 'mir' in Artamir and Faramir means 'jewel'…

The prophecy was obviously not written by me, you can find it in Appendix A of the Lord of the Rings.


	7. A Good Man

**Nanold** : Thanks! I was wondering how the prophecy could affect Arvedui and his father on a personal level, also they rule over smaller realm than the Gondorians… so yeah, paranoid!

The way I picture those greenhouses, they're absolutely huge and they're warm all year long. Last semester, I had a class in botanical gardens and we had to walk across the greenhouses to reach the classroom, and it was always such a nice feeling, especially when it was cold outside. So for Fíriel, it must be comforting to be there.

* * *

 **Chapter 7 – A Good Man**

 **T.A. 1940 - March**

Artamir loved the greenhouses. When Fíriel had told him, through the palantír, that the Northerners had kept a wide variety of plants and trees in their halls, he had been genuinely curious about it. In the South, they had inherited the architectural skills of the Númenóreans and their great cities mirrored those of the lost island, or so it was said, yet they cared more for stones than for greenery. Thus, Artamir shared his sister's excitement upon the discovery of plants that had been brought from Númenor itself and it was with great interest that he visited the greenhouses.

"I dare hope you can take some of these saplings with you, when you go back to Gondor," said Fíriel, as they were strolling through the widest of the greenhouses. "I'd wager they will grow well enough if you plant them in the gardens of the Citadel."

"Probably," said Artamir, bending down to admire closely one of the young oaks. "I suppose the King won't mind if we bring back some of his seedlings?"

"He has little interest in the greenhouses, I doubt he would notice it were we to empty them," Fíriel answered, shrugging.

"At least, he granted you permission to do as you wish in here," said Artamir who thought it was essential his sister had her own 'territory' in these foreign halls.

"Arvedui is the one who gave me the keys. Yet I never asked for it, I suspect he… overheard me talking about my fondness for plants and trees."

Artamir gave this piece of information some thought and he said, "I would not know how you perceive him since you are to marry him, yet I reckon he is a good man."

Fíriel nodded, "He is."

"And his mother, she considers you like her daughter already. You will dwell far from us, however I am relieved you will be with them."

"I still wish I would be the one bringing him South after the wedding," admitted Fíriel.

"Me too…" muttered Artamir, taking his sister's hand in his. "Yet you shall come visit, shall you not?"

"Of course, I could certainly spend a winter or two down in Minas Anor," said Fíriel, grinning.

"Father will surely–"

But he was interrupted by a flock of young ladies who were coming their way, giggling, and they quickly managed to surround Artamir, leaving Fíriel behind.

"Oh, lord Artamir, what a pleasure to see you here!"

"So, you do love our plants and trees, lord Artamir?"

"Have you brought some exotic flowers from Gondor, perhaps?"

Some of the ladies had taken a liking to the greenhouses and they would often bring their needlework there and do as they always did, sew and chat happily. Fíriel was glad they did so, and now and then she joined them, although not as often as Meldis did, for her friend was a gifted embroiderer. It also seemed these ladies had expended their boundaries and had grown curious to know more about Bree, where they seldom went, even though it was not far – it was considered a small, uninteresting town. They also asked plenty of questions to Fíriel about Gondor and many had expressed the wish to travel there in the year to come.

But those who were now forming a circle around Artamir were those who still paid Fíriel little attention – and so did their husbands, if they were married.

"Your sister did a remarkable word, to think that only months ago, this place was almost in ruins…"

"I did get help. Without Beril and her friends, I could have never achieved so much in so little time, and not without my dear Meldis as well," Fíriel said and she did not nothing to conceal the exasperation in her voice.

"I am sure you could give her some useful advices, lord Artamir."

"Lord Artamir, what do you think of the Laurinquë? Are not its golden flowers absolutely exquisite?"

And once more, Fíriel's words weighed not much and there was nothing she could have said about the Laurinquë that they would have paid attention to. Hopefully, Artamir handled well these situations and, truth was, the presence of her brothers was most certainly what had earned Fíriel the respect of those of the ladies who actively avoided her up until recently. She noticed there was something about the _masculine_ charm of Artamir and Faramir that convinced the most reluctant of them that there were some undeniable advantages in having a Gondorian princess in Fornost. Fíriel was not to be fooled, however, and she presumed this kindness the ladies displayed would not survive the departure of her dear brothers. By then, however, she would be wedded to Arvedui and she'd more important things to take care of than a few disgruntled ones.

* * *

Surprisingly, Artamir got along well with King Araphant. The Gondorian prince was wise and he had come prepared, ready to reassure the King of Arthedain about his intentions and those of his father. It would have been hard to tell whether Artamir's smooth manners really worked or not, yet King Araphant seemed to have put aside his fears of invasion and his hatred towards all things he deemed a threat - he was still moody, but it was nothing Artamir could easily overlook.

However, Faramir was not as prudent as his elder brother, nor was he as shy as his younger sister, and he had not forgotten some of the snide remarks King Araphant had made during the negotiations that had lead to the alliance. Thus, Artamir and Fíriel kept an eye on him, encouraging him to spend more time with Arvedui than with the King, and the princes were oft seen together, walking along the high walls of Fornost.

Arvedui appreciated Faramir's frankness and he was not unhappy the Gondorian prince shared so freely his point of view on the alliance and the wars both their realms were facing. After all, Arvedui really wanted to re-establish cordial relations between the North and the South and for that, he needed to know how the alliance was truly perceived in Gondor. Faramir complied readily, yet he also did not hesitate to tackle another side of the agreements sealed between their kingdoms. He wanted to be sure Arvedui understood how much it meant for the Gondorian royal family to have let go their daughter.

"She is the youngest and the only girl…" said Faramir, as they were strolling outside Fornost, mere days before the betrothal. "None of us was truly enthusiastic when she agreed to wed you, yet she was determined to play her part in this alliance and never did she seem to hesitate. Thus, she went away…"

"Could she have refused…?" asked Arvedui. He had been wondering to what extent Fíriel had been willing to come to Arthedain, for he had not liked much the idea that she would have been compelled to wed him.

"Our father would not have forced her to marry against her will, especially if it meant she had to dwell in the North for the rest of her life," Faramir explained and he appreciated that he could be so honest with the prince. "It is nothing against you, Arvedui, yet for the people of Gondor, your realm seems… far."

"I was not aware of this, to be honest, I had assumed she had been ordered to come here," Arvedui said and he dared not admit that at first, he had not given this many thoughts.

"I'm hardly surprised Fíriel has not mentioned she was given a choice, it would have made a poor impression on your father, would have it not?" And there were already too many things King Araphant seemed to dislike about his new Gondorians allies as it was – good thing that Artamir was a skilled diplomat.

"Indeed," Arvedui answered, nodding. "I have no siblings myself, I never had to worry about a sister."

"It was displeasing to send her away, yet the palantíri helped closing the gap between us. I should thank you for that, I know it was your doing."

"You seemed be a tight-knitted family, I do admire this," said Arvedui who was sometimes overwhelmed by a bittersweet feeling whenever the three siblings were together, laughing and playing – he was envious, like he had been when Fíriel had been using the palantír.

"We are lucky, I suppose. We were raised by two loving parents and…" Faramir's voice trailed away, as he saw a flash of sadness in Arvedui's grey eyes. He had had no intention to brag, yet he reckoned he could've been more careful – by the look of it, the royal family of Arthedain was quite different from Gondor's.

"My mother wanted to have many children, she wished for a house full of little ones running around," declared Arvedui, after a long silence, "but after my birth, after the prophecy, my father deemed one son would be enough of a burden for him to bear."

"Well… soon you will have a wife, and you shall also gain two brothers," muttered Faramir.

"I will be honored to become your brother-in-law," said Arvedui, smiling.

Since Artamir and Faramir's arrival in Arthedain, Arvedui had come to think this alliance would not only benefit his kingdom, but himself as well, on a personal level. And he had also started to reconsider his opinion of Fíriel whom he had judged too harshly, believing her to be weaker than she really was. Yet she was so happy to be with her brothers, she seemed to have become a different person, more radiant than ever – he had caught himself staring at her more than once.

Arvedui was not romantic, or at least he was not anymore. In his younger days, he had read much poetry and some his favorite lays had given him an idealized image of love. Oft he had walked in forests, naively hoping he would stumble upon a mysterious damsel in distress who would happen to be the fairest maiden he had ever set eyes on. Yet he had grown older, and had never met any young girl in the woods, and he had forgotten about his innocent daydreams. And he was about to be wedded to someone he had not chosen – not that it was completely unexpected, considering he was a prince.

He would have been unable to tell if he would have even noticed Fíriel, provided they had met in different circumstances. She was comely, yet nothing out of the ordinary, and since she barely spoke in front of strangers, he wondered what would have made his attention turn on her. Lately however, he found he was glad they had slowly gotten to know each other, glad she no longer treated him like a stranger. And he was glad for himself too, for he did love to spend time in her company and in the company of her brothers.

As it happened, the prospect of Fíriel becoming his wife had become pleasant.

* * *

"How do you feel, princess?" Meldis inquired, inspecting the neat braids the handmaid had just finished tying on Fíriel's head.

The amount of work put in the betrothal's preparations impressed the young girl and although she had always been satisfied with her rather humble lifestyle, she could not help but to be fascinated by the rich garbs Fíriel had pulled out of the chests her brothers had brought with them from Gondor.

"Fine, I suppose," Fíriel replied and she wondered herself why she was not nervous yet.

"Today is an important day."

"For Arthedain and Gondor, indeed," said Fíriel, adjusting a brooch on her dress – it represented the White Tree, whose silver leaves and white blossoms she dreamed of frequently.

"For you too, there will be a ring on your hand tonight."

However, Meldis could hardly believe the princess cared about the ring itself, for she possessed already a considerable number of jewels. The North had kept its most precious heirlooms, inherited from Elendil himself, but aside from that, most of the noble families had squandered their goods after the partition of Arnor. Thus, Númenórean jewelry was far from being a common sight, even in the King's halls.

"Are you teasing me, Meldis? I was under the impression that you were the only in these halls who had remained unaffected by this wedding."

"Well, I am your friend, princess, and while I might not be as fond of celebrations as some ladies of our acquaintance, I am delighted Arvedui will become your husband."

"Are you?"

"Perhaps Arvedui is not as dashing as your brothers, yet what matters most is that he is a good man."

"Artamir said so too..."

Yet Fíriel had realized by herself the prince was a good man. She could have listed everything he had done for her since she had arrived in Arthedain: giving her the keys of the greenhouses, allowing her to use the palantír, among others – she even suspected it was not pure luck that had brought Meldis her way. Even though he proceeded not like his mother, never once displaying openly his intentions, he had done much for her and she could not remain insensitive to that.

"It is not enough?" asked Meldis, interrupting Fíriel's musing.

"What?"

"Were you expecting… a spark?" Meldis had little experience of all things related to love but, like Fíriel, she had read many books and there always seemed to be a spark when lovers met.

"No, I was not," blurted the princess and she blushed. She felt silly for it happened often lately, and almost always in the presence of Arvedui.

"Alright… well, you are ready, are you not?"

"I am."

The handmaids had entwined flowers in Fíriel's braids and as for the rest, the Gondorian garments and jewelry would be quite enough to mesmerized the lords and ladies – those of the North, at least.

* * *

Her brothers, the Queen and the King were already seated, thus it was Arvedui who was waiting for her, by the doors of the Main Hall – the betrotheds would be the last to enter it. The was a hustle around him, as guests and servants busied themselves, but he looked calm and he smiled when he saw her. Clad in black and silver, he was majestic and perhaps he was a little _dashing_ , or so she thought.

"How fair you are tonight, Fíriel," he said, taking her hand in his and putting a kiss on it.

It was a rather standard compliment, yet she dearly hoped he meant it.

"You are quite elegant yourself," Fíriel told him, wishing she would not be flustered as the words came out of her mouth.

"Thank you," Arvedui said, bowing, and he extended his arm, so she could take it. "Shall we go inside?"

"Yes."

The Queen had done miracles in the Main Hall, where hundreds and hundreds of candles had been lighted, like so many small stars. Magnificent tapestries hang on the walls, weaved by generations of women, and their silver and golden threads twinkled softly. Fíriel immediately loved this decor and her mood soared when she walked along the table where all the Gondorians were seated. They all were familiar faces, all clad in white and silver, and she knew that, whatever would happen, they were on her side. And when she and Arvedui finally reached the dais, Fíriel happily took place next to Artamir and Faramir.

Becoming betrothed did not require much effort on Fíriel's part, for all she had to do was to sit, eat what she was served, and nod and smile when spoken to by noble folks. It was not a formal ceremony, for no vows had to be pronounced and there would be no kiss as well. Nonetheless, it was an important moment for both parties involved, for this merrymaking was a good occasion for Arthedain and Gondor to display their wealth and power and gifts of all sorts piled up on large table, right under the dais. Considering this, and the seize of both delegation, it looked more like a contest of some sort was being held, and not a celebration of friendship and love. Hopefully, this competition was circumcised to gifts and garbs and aside from showing off a few jewels, the guests remained amiable with one another – exquisite food and wine did much to maintain a merry mood throughout the evening.

The silver rings were produced by King Araphant after desert had been served and, before offering them to the two betrotheds, he took a few minutes to discourse on the importance love, loyalty and new starts. He was quite convincing, glancing from time to time at his son and his wife, and he was gracious when he gave Arvedui and Fíriel their ring, yet there was still a condescending overtone to his words. It seemed the King was not the only one who to lecture the prince and the princess about matrimonial life that evening, for a dozen of lords and ladies had prepared speeches for the occasion, vying for the attention of the royal families.

When at long last they all had their turn, another round of wine was served and music was heard again, for it was time to dance – and dozens of guests jumped from their chairs, happy to be done with boring discourses. And of course, Arvedui and Fíriel were expected to take in the rejoicings, thus they got up to go dancing, hand in hand.

"I hope the dinner did not feel too cumbersome, the lords and ladies wanted to impress your brothers," Arvedui said lowly, in her ear, as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

"No, it was entertaining enough to listen to their speeches," Fíriel assured him who was glad they were dancing together – what a change, compared to that little feast that had been thrown in her honor, in Fall.

Thinking about this betrothal feast, she had not built any romantic hopes. She had merely wished she would not look too clumsy and also that King Araphant would not pass a remark to her brothers or to any Gondorian lord. And since everything seemed to be fine – Artamir was having some serious conservation with the chamberlain Cirion and Faramir was twirling merrily with a few lovely maidens –, Fíriel allowed herself to relax and enjoy the celebration, almost as if she was a spectator herself.

"This is all very formal, tedious even."

"It is the alliance of two kingdoms that is being celebrated, we'd almost forget it is also a betrothal," Fíriel whispered and she did not feel bitter about it, on the contrary, she was amused.

Arvedui was gazing at her and, although he was not smiling, there was something very soft about his expression.

"Worry not, I have not forgotten it is you I will wed, and not the realm of Gondor."

For a moment, Fíriel's hand tightened around Arvedui's arm.

"I shall make sure I call you Arvedui and not Arthedain, then," she said, forcing herself to chuckle.

There was a strange turmoil stirring within her chest and, unlike that first time she had danced with the prince, she felt at ease being so close to him. She wished they would stay like this all night, yet too soon her brothers came to claim their right to dance with, and after them many Gondorians and Northerners. Arvedui too had become popular, as if the silver ring on his finger attracted maidens, and that evening there was not a single lady to say he looked stern or gruff.

The feast lasted for hours, to everyone's delight, and such a success was seen as a good omen for the newly sealed alliance.

* * *

Later that night, when the celebration was over and when all candles had been blown, Fíriel laid in her bed, not quite ready to sleep. She had spent an excellent evening and even the occasional smirks she had seen on King Araphant's face had not affected her good mood. After all, barely a few weeks ago, how could have she imagined her betrothal would truly be a joyful event? However, she was not naïve, she knew it would not be so simple and that good wine and honey cakes would not always be there to smooth the relations between Arthedain and Gondor.

At the very least, it did not feel like a burden anymore to interact with Arvedui and this was a great improvement. As much as the Queen and Meldis had helped her feel welcomed in Fornost, it was still essential she felt comfortable around her future husband, for they were to share many things… and, these days, just thinking about it made her flush – what an odd sensation it was, sweet and unnerving at the same time.

Fíriel was lost in daydreams about the wedding when someone knocked at the door. It was one of her handmaid, who whispered sleepily, "It is the prince, my Lady. He says he wants to see you… Should I tell him to wait in the parlor?"

"The prince? Yes… Yes, I shall be there in a moment," said Fíriel, jumping down her bed. She hastily grabbed something to cover herself and hurried out of her room and into the parlor, where Arvedui stood awkwardly.

"What urgent matter brings you here, Arvedui?" she inquired, still slightly confused – he surely had not come in her chambers just to bid her good night.

The princess had quickly put on a wrinkled dressing gown and her hair was a mess, yet Arvedui found her more endearing like this than in the rich dresses she had worn during the merrymaking. However, he kept this thought to himself, for it would not be proper to compliment a lady on her sleep marks after having showed up unexpectedly in her chambers in the middle of the night.

"Please forgive me for intruding in your rooms so late, but I… I have a gift for you and it seemed wiser to give it to you in private." And truth be told, Arvedui had not planned this visit thoroughly, it was more of a spur of the moment idea – that was very unlike him to be impulsive and he suspected the delicious Gondorian wine he had been drinking all evening had something to do with it.

"Oh, thank you," said Fíriel, caught unaware. She blinked several times, noticing he was holding a small packet wrapped in a piece of fabric and held together by twine. "But I… I'm afraid I haven't got anything for you though…"

"It is no fancy present, princess," Arvedui warned her, handing his gift.

"Still, I…" whispered Fíriel, carefully untying the twine. "What is…Papers…?"

It was a pile of yellowish parchments, and some were torn, and there was a lot of dust too – she sneezed. The prince had been quite right to say it was nothing fancy and Fíriel could not help but feel a bit disappointed. There was no need to wake her up for this…

"Letters, treatises, maps, to be precise. There should be enough in here for you to understand the current situation in the North, between Arthedain, Cardolan and Rhudaur," Arvedui explained and although he managed to look as stoic as usual, he thought Fíriel's expression was very entertaining to look at.

"But, why…?"

"Angmar is ever a threat, Gondor is our new ally, yet Cardolan and Rhudaur are our immediate neighbours. While the lords of Rhudaur seem impress that I am to marry a princess of Gondor, those of Cardolan are more reluctant to come and pay their homage to you."

Fíriel nodded slowly. She had not forgotten Arvedui had almost wedded a maiden from Cardolan and it only seemed logic that the people of Cardolan would not approve the change of plans the alliance had caused.

"Were you not betrothed to one of their daughters?" she inquired, eyeing him – she did feel a tinge of jealousy and it was not something she was proud of, really.

"Almost," Arvedui answered shortly.

"Yet I came with a bigger dowry, did I not?" said Fíriel and this notion was so absurd, it made her smile.

"Indeed… and my father has a poor opinion of these two realms and their rulers."

"Oh, I could have guessed it. At least I can trace my ancestry back to Anárion, it does give me a great advantage on your previous suitor."

And they both chuckled, although they would have been unable to tell what had caused such gaiety. Perhaps they simply were relieved they could discuss so openly with each other. Perhaps they had started to understand they actually were a good match.

"Well, thank you Arvedui," said Fíriel. "I shall do my best to study these papers."

"It's a pleasure, princess," he said and as she yawned, he added, "now I should let you rest… Good night, Fíriel."

"Good night to you too, Arvedui."

Arvedui had opened the door, yet he turned around right before stepping out of the parlor and his hand lingered on the doorknob.

"Ah, and also… I offered your brothers to go on a small trip to Annúminas and I thought you might wish to join us. We should depart in a few days and we shall be away from Fornost for some time."

"Really? Of course, I would gladly join you!" said Fíriel, beaming.

"Good, I look forward to it."

"So do I."

And that night, Fíriel could barely get any sleep. There was too much on her mind and, for once, it was mostly happy thoughts would kept her awake.


	8. A Vast Lake

**Chibara-san:** Thank you, I'm glad you like them! I did dig deep to find them haha. Well not too deep (they're actually mentioned in the Appendix A of the LotR), but I have a weird fascination for the genealogies of the kings of Gondor and Arnor, so I browse through them every now and then…

At the time of Arvedui and Fíriel, Cardolan and Rhudaur were in ruins already and no Dúnedain dwelled there anymore. I changed it to make the North a livelier place than it was at the time and I thought that to keep these two kingdoms alive for the moment would make things a little bit more tensed in general.

* * *

 **Chapter 8 – A Vast Lake**

Arvedui hoped Fíriel would not mention to anyone his visit in her chambers, late at night, and also that the princess thought him not too cavalier for having done so – for his part, he still blamed the Gondorian wine. But days passed and little changed about Fíriel's attitude towards him, if anything, all her shyness seemed to have vanished and she spoke freely around him, like she did with her brothers and Meldis. How exactly had it happened, Arvedui knew not and he was unsure he could take any credit for this change. After all, he had little talent when it came to dealing with the feelings of others – save for soldiers – and, truth be told, never had he before befriended a lady who was not one of his cousins. Yet he would surely not complain his betrothed had warmed up to him, and he had to admit it, to himself at least: he had quickly grown fond of spending time with Fíriel. He did think he had been a fool for not having get better acquainted with her sooner.

He had taken a strong liking to Artamir and Faramir too and he held them in high esteem, reckoning that with men like these, the Dúnedain stood a good chance against their enemies. Even his father had kept quiet about his fears lately and, although he could not help throwing a few scornful looks at the Gondorians now and then, he was overall being a gracious host. Arvedui suspected that, for once, his mother had a good influence on the King – for all the devotion she bore him, she would not have let him ruin this wedding she had so carefully planned.

* * *

Fíriel had been given a rather complete record of the relations between Arthedain, Rhudaur and Cardolan and she would need days to familiarize herself with it – she would probably not have the time to do so before her wedding. However, skimming through it, there were already a few elements she deemed worth of attention. What struck her first was how the lords of Rhudaur and Cardolan had become more aggressive after their royal lines had ended and their numbers greatly dwindled. Instead of seeking reconciliation with Arthedain, they had further distanced themselves from what they refused to see as their legitimate leaders and this attitude had weakened them even more.

On a hopeful note, however, the three realms had managed to reach an agreement on how to defend their frontiers, since the coming of the Witch-King in the North, and, despite a few occasional clashes, it worked well. Fíriel did wonder how long it could last, considering King Araphant had little regard for the rulers of Rhudaur and Cardolan. From what she could read, he had never tried to hide his disdain towards them. It seemed to have worked in his favor so far, keeping at bay old disputes that had been going on ever since the partition of Arnor, yet it had also failed to encourage any reconciliation between the three kingdoms. And it was a shame, Fíriel thought, for their common battle against Angmar should have been the occasion to forge a steady alliance. Yet it seemed like King Araphant would have gladly conquered his neighbors, had he not been so preoccupied by the Witch-King and the prophecy.

She also shared the records with her brothers, although she did it discreetly, in the safety of her room. Perhaps Arvedui knew she would do it, yet she'd rather not think about King Araphant's reaction, should he ever learn all three siblings had had access to these papers – he would soon claim Gondor was meddling in his realm affairs.

"Mother shall arrive within a fortnight… I do wonder how she and King Araphant will get along," said Fíriel, glancing at Artamir, as she was gazing at an old map of Arnor.

She and Faramir sat on the bed, papers spread everywhere around them, on the blankets. Artamir was ever more self-conscious, even when there was no one around to impress, thus he had taken place in a proper seat and had sorted out his papers neatly on a small table.

"This King is an odd man… On one hand, he genuinely wishes to protect his kingdom and, from I have gathered, he is highly respected by his men. On the other hand… allies and foes, he treats alike, mistrusting both." And he added, "Well, save for the Elven folk. He has not failed to mention how thrilled he was that the Grey Havens and Rivendell would be sending delegations to your wedding."

"He has not yet decided what party is more likely to cause the end of his line," said Faramir, frowning. "Shall the Witch-King swipe down Arthedain, leaving nothing but ashes? Or Shall Gondor swallow it so the Dúnedain of the South will rule those of the North? It is as if he has conveniently forgotten we need his help too."

"The prophecy has poisoned his existence, it blinds him," Fíriel told her brother. "He seems truly obsessed by it."

"Has the Seer precisely told him Gondor would cause his downfall?" Faramir sighed. "Would it not be for Arvedui, I would advise Father to step out of this alliance…"

"Do not be ridiculous, Faramir," Artamir snapped, shaking his head. "King Araphant might be wary of our intentions, but I trust he is a man loyal to his words and that he will come to our aid when we call upon him."

"Hopefully he will send his son in his stead."

"It seems likely he will, I believe he has not failed to notice how you three get along."

"I suppose Father too shall appreciate Arvedui, and he'll be relieved," said Artamir who remembered their father had found it exhausting to negotiate with King Araphant.

"Ah, Fíriel, how lucky you are!" Faramir exclaimed, wrapping an arm around his sister's shoulder. He playfully ruffled her hair, as he used to do often when they were longer – he had missed his sister more than he could care to admit and it was his own silly well to show it. "Just about to marry tall and handsome prince Arvedui of Arthedain!"

"Faramir, I cannot breathe…" Fíriel mumbled grumpily as she tried to get away from her brother. "And it will take ages to untangle my hair…"

"I hope you shall do none of this rubbish in front of Arvedui or any of the Northerners, during our little trip to lake Evendim. They might end up thinking Gondorians have no manners." While Artamir was a little appalled at his brother's carelessness, it did not occur to him he could help Fíriel getting rid of Faramir and his annoying displays of fraternal love.

"I will behave most impeccably, dear Artamir," Faramir promised. He still had Fíriel locked in his arms, yet she now was the one ruffling his auburn hair, quite vigorously, and he was laughing happily, not bothered at all.

"Then I cannot wait to leave!" exclaimed the princess.

"It will surely be good to get some fresh air," Artamir said, nodding absentmindedly – he was used to Faramir and Fíriel's childish squabbles and it did not prevent him from examining thoroughly the papers about Rhudaur and Cardolan.

"When will we departing?" asked Faramir, who had loosened his hold on his sister and who was now considering helping her brush her hair.

"In two days," answered Artamir, staring at the shape of lake Evendim, on a map Fíriel had given him.

* * *

Their party was composed of around twenty people, mostly Gondorians, and they left Fornost at dawn, when dew drops glimmered on the fresh grass. Following Arvedui's lead, they rode west for a day and half, first through a vast plain, then following the Baranduin. They journeyed rather slowly, for they were in no hurry, and they spent their first night by the river where fishing grabbed all their attention – dinner was copious. The next day, they crossed the Baranduin on a ford and, according to Arvedui, the old bridge that had once connected Annúminas and Fornost had collapsed decades ago, during floods.

Once they reached lake Evendim, they settled their camp on the western bank of the Baranduin, where the river met the lake, and from there they could see Annúminas, south. Nenuial, as the Elves called, was a wide lake, so wide that Fíriel and her brothers were under the impression they were facing a small sea, for gentle waves rolled at their feet and a warm breeze played in their hair. It was a marvelous scenery to behold: hills rose at the north and the west, their slopes covered with a forest of tall trees and in the lake mingled the green of the leaves and the blue of the summer sky. Birds of all sorts dwelled in these parts, from gracious herons that stood still amidst rush to the ducks that flew over the water and whose meat Arvedui was so fond of, and their cries was the music of the lake – that and the crickets' chirping sounds.

Nature's beauty was one thing, yet the old silhouette of Annúminas was truly what caught everyone's attention. Even if the spectacular architecture of the ruins was more familiar to the Southerners than to the Northerners, the Gondorians were filled with awe by the size of the stones that had been used to build the city's walls. The delicacy of the carvings adorning the houses and towers was also a wonder, for it was fine like lace, and most of it seemed to have not suffered from the passing of time. Roofs made of slate, large oaken gates, long docks unfurling on water, in a quick glance, these remains appeared to be still strong and some could have believed Annúminas had been abandoned only yesterday. Yet the far-sighted Dúnedain could see the flaws, the cracks on the walls, the wild plants growing everywhere, the shattered windows and the crumbling that was slowly gnawing the stones, the very foundations of the city. And they knew nothing was to be found in Annúminas, save for old memories and ghosts.

"Some aspects of it reminds me of Minas Anor and of Fornost, however, most of all, it bears a great resemblance to Osgiliath," said Artamir, squinting his eyes as he stared at the highest tower still standing. "I suppose our architects, whether they dwelled in the North or in the South, all had Númenor in mind when they built our cities…"

He was the only one who talked, for the others were too absorbed in their thoughts to say anything. Faramir was wondering if some treasures lied in these ruins, not that greed had seized him, but he dearly wished he could stumble upon some old heirloom that even loremasters would have forgotten. Fíriel, on the other hand, was pondering over the architecture of Annúminas – how alike to that of the cities of Númenor could it be exactly? Was it truly Númenórean or merely influenced by the Númenórean style?

And, beside them, Arvedui was lost in one of his old reveries. He had often ridden alone to Annúminas, especially in his youth, and he had explored its ruins many times, looking for traces of his ancestors. For him, it was a sacred place and on the morrow, few would be granted the privilege to enter the city in his company. There was much more on his mind, yet his thoughts were abruptly interrupted by one of his future brothers-in-law.

"Well, where are those ducks?" Faramir inquired, slapping Arvedui's back – he was the only who behaved so familiarly with the prince. "I say, we should engage in a friendly contest, if we are to hunt."

"Should we?"

"I mean not to brag, yet Artamir and I are highly skilled hunters."

"And I have been hunting here since I was tall enough to ride my own horse. Not to mention chamberlain Cirion has an uncanny knack when locating preys."

"Excellent, it should be an entertaining afternoon," said Faramir, beaming.

* * *

Far from the hassle of the camp, where is men were restlessly pacing around, Arvedui was sitting by the lake, pondering. He was someone who had always felt more at ease in the wilderness than between walls and he was not unhappy to have left Fornost for a few days. Never did he feel more peaceful than when he came to lake Evendim and taking some time alone to contemplate its clear water was always something that delighted him, from the depth of his soul.

When he heard steps behind him, he assumed Cirion had come to fetch, impatient as he was to prove the Gondorian princes he was a better hunter than then – Faramir had taunted him for quite some time. Yet when Arvedui turned around, he saw not the chamberlain, but Fíriel who was heading his way, jumping from one flat rock to another to reach him. To think that merely a few weeks ago she would have never dared approach him like that…

He got up as she drew near him and a smile spread on his face. She was wearing a very simple, very plain grey dress, her hair was tied up in a bun and she was barefoot, obviously ready to paddle in the water till night came.

"Arvedui, are you not already running after these delicious ducks of yours?" she inquired, as she landed beside him.

"Cirion and I thought it would be fair to give your brothers a head start, for they are not as familiar with these grounds as we are."

She stood close to him and her arm brushed against his. He realized he had become strangely aware of his own body, as if he was too tall, too big and too stiff – in comparison, she looked so light and graceful!

"How gracious," Fíriel said, chuckling.

Her gaiety was contagious, for Arvedui too laughed. As he did, he felt as if his head was empty and that he could do nothing but gaze at her and smile. For a slight second, he wondered how heroes could always be so wordy in these poems he had read during his youth – he found he barely could form a coherent sentence.

"And you, Fíriel, what shall you catch with your net?" he managed to say, at long last.

"Crayfish, hopefully," she answered, beaming – how adorable these freckles were, suddenly.

Arvedui blinked, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. "You should get lucky if you go a little further south of our camp," he advised her as calmly as he could. "Seek them in tree roots, where they love hiding."

"All right," she nodded and she glanced towards the camp. "Perhaps you should go, I fear lord Cirion is about to leave without you."

"Indeed," said Arvedui, although he was still looking down at her.

"Do not tell my brothers about it, yet I wish you good luck," whispered Fíriel before running back to the camp, where Meldis and a few ladies, all holding nets, were waiting for her.

"I won't…" muttered Arvedui, oblivious of the chamberlain Cirion, who was gesturing at him to hurry.

But the prince had forgotten about the ducks, for his eyes were following Fíriel. It was not anymore pity he felt when he gazed at her, it was longing.

* * *

Dinner was regal that night, for the hunters had brought back quite a loot and Fíriel and her friends had caught their fair share of crayfish. Fresh ale had also been carried along from Fornost and soon it was a merry reunion, for the Southerners finally admitted they had been defeated by the Northerners. Arvedui, Cirion and their men had not only shot the greatest number of ducks, theirs were also the biggest, and Faramir had accepted to bow in front of the winners. However, the abundance of food and drinks was not without consequences and only a few brave ones could stay awake till midnight.

When all had gone to sleep in their tents, Arvedui stamped out the embers of the main fire and, instead of allowing himself a well-deserved rest, he headed towards the bank of the lake to gaze once more at Annúminas. Melancholy ever sized him when he came to the ruins of the city, as if he had witnessed its downfall himself, and he needed some time alone to contemplate the walls, the towers and houses that had been once been filled with life. Never had he come to lake Evendim with such a big party and, although he thought the Gondorians deserved to have a glimpse at Annúminas, their presence troubled the solemn calm that usually enveloped the lake.

"Arvedui? Are you not weary of your day?" whispered Fíriel who appeared at his side, as if out of nowhere.

She seemed tired herself, yawning and rubbing her eyes, and she was gazing at him, genuinely concerned. He hardly could stop staring at her, for she looked adorable, wrapped in a navy blue cloak, her long brown hair loose.

"I was not yet ready to go to bed…" Arvedui replied quickly. "But, you, princess, have you got any trouble sleeping? It the tent uncomfortable?"

He was startled, but also ridiculously happy she had showed so unexpectedly – his heart was beating fast in his chest.

"Oh, it is fine..." she sighed. "Sadly, I have to share it with my brothers and their snores would put to shame the biggest boars."

Arvedui laughed, "I did believe I had heard some strange noises."

"And you, why are you still awake?"

"I love gazing at the ruins at night..." he said, nodding towards Annúminas. "If you look closely enough, you can see a faint light glimmering on the stones, as if some magic was bound to them, and I get to glimpse a fleeting image of how the city was like at the time of its splendor, when the older kings still dwelled in these halls."

"It must have been a splendid sight, indeed…" Fíriel had never heard Arvedui speak with such ardor – it was very endearing and she smiled. "Would that it be rebuilt one day."

She could already picture the amazing work the architects and engineers of Gondor could do in a place like this.

"We have been a scattered people ever since the partition of Arnor, I doubt there are enough of us to inhabit Annúminas once more. That is, if we could put our efforts into the reconstruction, and not into the war against Angmar."

"Perhaps we won't see it, yet others will."

"Perhaps…" muttered Arvedui and it was his turn to heave a sigh. "I do wonder what my life would have been, had I been born earlier, had I been born in this city," he confessed.

"Do you wish you had been born earlier?"

"Sometimes I do… Sometimes I wish I would have been born in Númenor, before pride and power tainted the existence of the Dúnedain. In my younger days, I had dreams where I walked on the isle of Elenna, where the sea breeze flew in my hair and I gazed at the Meneltarma whose summit ever was lost in clouds… Then I would wake up and remember I have my own part to play in the history of Men and that it is quite enough already."

Talking of these intimate matters, he felt a bit dizzy and he had taken Fíriel's hand in his, to steady himself.

"Of course," whispered Fíriel, "your very name is ever a reminder of the prophecy…"

His dark hair and his beard were unkempt, like the day they had first met, and whenever he had smiled, she had seen the fine lines, at the corner of his eyes – and all these details she found lovable now. His features were harsh, yet all she noticed was that his grey gaze was soft when he looked down at her.

"Unlike my father, I tend to be optimistic about the outcome of this prophecy… Or rather, I should say I believe its outcome can equally be good or bad. And lately I have been pondering a lot bout it... You and I, we each are descendant of one of the brothers, of one of the sons of Elendil. Does it not mean anything for the Dúnedain that the lines of Anárion and Isildur meet at last?"

"You said yourself the prophecy could hardly be interpreted…" said Fíriel and she considered his words seriously. "What we can safely assume, however, is that the alliance will do good to our people, for it will allow us to better defend ourselves against the threats we are facing. If this can be achieved, then we should be content with it, for we will have given the Dúnedain hope."

"Indeed… I may not be overly pessimistic, yet you should know, princess," Arvedui said, entwining his fingers in her, locking his eyes on hers, "your fate will be tied to mine, for better or worse."

"Well, your fate will be tied to mine too," Fíriel told him and with her free hand, she stroked his cheek gently. "Perhaps one of us will get lucky and it'll save the other."

His beard was softer than expected and Fíriel's fingers lingered on it, as she was gazing at him. A silly notion had just crossed her mind and she slowly leaned in – they both closed their eyes when their lips met. Their first kiss was soft and brief and after that, they remained still, their foreheads and noses touching, their breaths mingling.

From the poems and books he had read, Arvedui knew this was the moment the hero declaimed a gallant speech to his lady, telling her how her lips were as soft as petals, and how her eyes were as bright as diamonds. Yet Arvedui was no poet himself and he was too flustered to be aware of what he felt himself, how could he then guess what Fíriel wished to hear? There was only one thing he was sure of and it was that he wanted another kiss.

This time he was the one to kiss her, cupping her face, and it lasted longer, and it was deeper. The sensation was delicious and Arvedui completely lost himself in it. How he loved to feel her mouth move on his, how he loved that her arms were wrapped around his neck… and he could not remember having ever felt before this urge to protect someone – he did not want to let her go.

They did not say much that night. There were a lot of things on the prince's mind, however Arvedui was too reserved to share any of it with Fíriel yet. Thus, he simply held her in his arms, in a tight embrace, and together they gazed at the shimmering ruins of Annúminas and at its phantomic reflection, in the water of lake Evendim.

* * *

I say western bank of the Baranduin, but if you look on a map of Middle-earth, you'll see it could also be called the southern bank because of the river's orientation. But I figured it was still the western bank… (detail, I know)


	9. A Sweet Secret

This chapter took a different direction than what I had planned and it was somehow difficult to write, so it might not flow as well as I would like. Anyhow, the wedding is nearing and with it the end of the 1st part of this story, so we can move on to the real problems Arvedui and Fíriel will have to face!

* * *

 **Chapter 9 – A Sweet Secret**

Fíriel slept only for a few hours and she woke up at dawn, when she heard her brothers moving around the tent. Upon opening her eyes, it took a few minutes for the memories of the previous night to sink in and when it did, the widest grin spread on her face. She could hardly believe that Arvedui – stern and gruff looking Arvedui – had proved to be so tender with her and so touching when talking about his dreams and Annúminas. There had been signs that a golden heart was hidden behind this impassive figure of his, yet she had not dared imagine she'd ever uncover it.

At some point, when she had been dozing in his arms, Arvedui had offered her to take his tent, saying he would not mind sleeping under the stars. Yet she had thought the night was too fresh for that and had assured him her brothers' snores were not as terrible as she may have had told him. And whatever sounds Artamir and Faramir produced, it had not bothered her much after all, for she had been too absorbed reliving these moments she had shared with Arvedui to be aware of her surroundings.

"Why are you smiling like this, silly? Was catching crayfish so fun yesterday?" Faramir asked.

Not suspecting in the least bit what could cause his sister's joy, he was all dressed up, ready for the day, and he carelessly threw some clothes on Fíriel. It was his own not so subtle way of telling her to hurry, for he was eager to depart for Annúminas and to explore its ruins.

"It was pleasant, indeed," she answered, prompting herself on one elbow.

"Today seems even more promising," said Faramir and, as he was about to leave the tent, he added, "Be quick, Fíriel, for the city of the old kings awaits us."

It did not take her long to get ready, yet she tarried a little, wondering how it would be to see Arvedui in the morning daylight, after they had kissed. Even though they were betrothed, she could not expect him to be demonstrative and he would surely look as he always did, calm and unaffected – it'd only feel disappointing, would it be otherwise. Fíriel needed not much though, one smile from him would be enough, one small smile meant for her, solely her.

She spotted him soon enough: he was seating by the lake, with her brothers and some of the Gondorians, and together they were having a copious breakfast, consisting mainly of the previous evening's leftovers. However, before she could join them, Fíriel was hailed by Meldis and the other ladies and they had prepared a finer meal, for they offered the princess hot tea and crispy bread.

"I was so tired yesterday, I fell asleep the moment I laid down," Meldis told Fíriel, as they took place under a tall walnut.

"I wish I could say the same. Sharing a tent with Artamir and Faramir was perhaps not the best of ideas."

"There is plenty of space in our tent, you should sleep there tonight."

"I will." And as her eyes lingered on Arvedui, she saw it – briefly, shyly, he smiled at her.

"Is something the matter, princess?"

"No," quickly replied Fíriel. "It's just… I like it here."

"So do I." For Meldis, who had dwelled most her life in the countryside nearby Bree, lake Evendim could compare to the Great Sea and it seemed to be a magical place.

"Today shall be a good day," said the princess and although her cheeks had reddened, no one noticed.

* * *

Their camp was not too far from the ruins of Annúminas, but it still took them an hour to reach it by foot. The road itself was enjoyable, for it was large and paved, and it unfurled alongside the lake's banks, flirting with the water. The gates of the old city were wide-opened, as if to welcome the visitors, yet there was an eerie feeling about it – it was a reminder the Northerners had gone in despair, leaving behind the great capital Elendil had built.

Past the walls, Annúminas had remained frozen in time and it was enveloped in a solemn silence none dared disturb. However, the city was far from being intact and the damages it had suffered were more visible in the inside than in the outside. It would have been risky to venture in most houses, for their wooden framework were worm-eaten and it seemed their roofs could give up at any moment. But even though green backwater filled the fountains they saw and spider webs veiled the windows of many buildings they passed by, Annúminas had not completely lost its grandeur. Wonderful statues still stood tall, wide avenues connected the different areas of the city and great marble stairs rose from the lake to the palace. And this was where Arvedui lead the small group, to their utter delight – aside from Artamir, Faramir and Fíriel, very few Gondorians had been admitted and they were all lords of Númenórean descent.

The palace was partly built on pillars, for it overlapped on the lake, and, by what seemed to be a miracle, it was almost entirely intact, for it had withstood the passing of time better than the rest of Annúminas. Its grandiose architecture echoed that of the lost cities of Númenor, or so it was said, based on descriptions found in old manuscripts. They lingered in the halls and chambers for hours, admiring finely crafted stone carvings, old tapestries and forgotten paintings, but their appreciation of the place was not purely esthetic. There was something still haunting the palace, perhaps the spirits of the elder kings themselves, and it commanded respect.

"Those ruins are a spectacular sight, are they not?" said Artamir in a low voice, as he linked his arm to his sister's.

They were standing on one of the palace's widest balcony, overlooking of the eastern part of the city, and both were dazzled by what they had seen.

"Their size is what surprises me most. To imagine it was once filled with Dúnedain, does it not highlight their decline, in a terrible way?"

"It does… Yet, please, never say this in front of the King, for we would never hear the end of it."

"Indeed," said Fíriel, chuckling. "Although, it seems he took a liking to you, perhaps he would listen to you without getting too angry."

"I did manage to avoid his bad temper so far, but I do wonder how long it can last. It'd be a lie to say I am not glad Father will handle most of the talk once I will be back in Minas Anor."

"Oh, by then, I do hope King Araphant will have accept the fact that this alliance is his best option." For once, Fíriel did not wince at the mention of her brothers' departure – it was not impending, yet by the end of the summer, they would be gone and long years would pass before the sibling could be reunited again.

"In a decade or two it should have sunk in this thick skull of his…" muttered Artamir, but there was something else on his mind and he was watching his sister closely.

Fíriel was glowing and he thought their little expedition in Annúminas had little to do with this radiant happiness she exuded. Since his arrival in Arthedain, Artamir had noticed a change in Fíriel's attitude towards Arvedui and although it had been slow, it had also been steady. These days, there was admiration in her eyes when she looked at him and always a smile lingered on her lips when she talked to him. And Artamir was no fool, he had understood she had become enamoured with her betrothed.

At first, he had been worried Arvedui might not reciprocate his sister's feelings, for it was hard to decipher what was going on in his mind and his impassive attitude could easily be mistaken for indifference. Yet since they had come to lake Evendim, there were a few fleeting moments during which Arvedui's stern mask had fallen off and Artamir had missed none of them. The prince rarely smiled, but when he did, it was mostly directed at Fíriel, and sometimes when his gaze landed on her, he seemed to forget there were other people around them.

Artamir would have been unable to tell exactly how close they had become, but, as they had been walking in Annúminas, it seemed both shared some sort of secret – a _sweet_ secret. Whatever had happened, he felt relieved Fíriel was to marry not only a good man, but also one who genuinely cared about her. If truly it was love that had sparked between them, then it would be less difficult to leave Arthedain when fall would come. It would be less painful to ride back to Gondor, leaving behind his little sister.

* * *

Their days by lake Evendim eventually came to an end and although it was hard to bid goodbye to this wonderful place and to the ghost of the elder kings, they could not delay their return to Fornost any longer. The wedding neared and other important celebrations were to be held as well, formalizing the alliance between the north-kingdom and the south-kingdom. Everyone would have to focus on the preparations, in their own way, and one prestigious guest was yet to come – Queen Russiel, wife of King Ondoher and mother of Artamir, Faramir and Fíriel.

King Ondoher himself would not make the journey to Arthedain, not that he did not wish to, but the steward and his closest advisors feared the Wainriders would strike during the King's absence. He deemed these concerns legitimate and, since King Araphant had not insisted on welcoming him in Fornost, King Ondoher had resolved not to attend his daughter's wedding. For a man like him, who loved deeply his family, it was a cruel yet not unexpected disappointment, but he had never failed to his duty to Gondor. Fíriel too wished her father could have been there and though the prospect of spending her life in the north had grown less burdensome, she missed her father greatly.

However, for the moment, Fíriel was also preoccupied with another matter, that of her future husband. She and Arvedui had stolen a few alone moments during their trip and it had only confirmed their mutual attraction. And now that they were back in Fornost, it had crossed her mind the greenhouses would be the perfect place to meet with the prince, far from prying eyes. She thought Arvedui would easily guess where she would wait for him – and he did, for he found her standing by one of the fountains, after everyone else had retired in their chambers.

"Fíriel," he said, taking her hand in his. "Have the plants been well tended to during your absence?"

"Oh, the gardeners are for more skilled than I will ever be, I am not sure these greenhouses need me at all."

Despite having become more intimate with the princess, Arvedui was not sure what the proper thing to do was, when they were alone together – could he hug her, could he kiss her right away, as he dearly wished to? Hopefully Fíriel settled the matter for him, huddling herself against him, closing her eyes as her head rested on his chest – in his arms, even the prospect of winter was rather pleasant, for she'd know where to go when seeking warmth. Arvedui let out a small sigh of satisfaction and he put a kiss on Fíriel's forehead, holding her tightly.

"You are not too disappointed to be back in Fornost, princess?"

"I am not. Are you?"

"Why should I be?"

"You seemed happier during our days by lake Evendim."

"I was happy. I still am."

And he bent down to kiss her, slowly and gently. He cupped her face, yearning for more, but, with Fíriel, Arvedui was careful and he did not allow himself to give in his deepest desires. Thus, he did not kiss her nearly as often as he wanted to, for he feared he'd be too rough, too clumsy… And he had the hands of a soldier, large and calloused, and it felt as if he could never be graceful enough when caressing her cheeks or holding her waist.

Although he had not dared ask her if it felt as good for her as it did for him, he reckoned Fíriel found some sort of enjoyment in his company, to say the least. She had quickly gotten used to being held by him and she would bury herself in his arms and simply stay there, as if his embrace was all she really wished for. It was a gesture Arvedui found incredibly endearing and he was always a little reluctant to let her go when it was time to part. And what he also really appreciated about being with Fíriel, was that there was no need to always talk, for silence was something they both found comforting.

And as far as discussions went, they had not uttered a word about their peculiar situation – yet it was implicit they were to be discreet for the time being. They were doing no wrong, on the contrary, their situation seemed ideal, for despite their marriage being arranged, they were slowly falling for one another. Yet they both deemed they needed to keep things quiet, for their own sake.

Truth be told, Arvedui was also worried about his father's reaction. King Araphant did not dislike Fíriel, he simply did not concern himself much with her. However, it was plain he would despise this growing proximity between his son and his future daughter-in-law, for where everyone would see love, he would see betrayal. Fíriel could bear his grandchildren, but she could not take Arvedui's heart – according to King Araphant, it would be risking losing the realm to the Gondorians.

* * *

 **T.A. 1940 – May**

Queen Russiel was a tall lady with long auburn hair, bright blue eyes, and enough freckles on her face to make King Araphant scowl fiercely. While she shared her husband's views on the necessity to forge an alliance with Arthedain, her journey to the North had only been motivated by the desire to see Fíriel. She knew Arthedain was a small realm, almost insignificant compared to Gondor, and she had been displeased her daughter was to wed a prince of the North. She did not doubt Arvedui was a valiant man and, since he was a descendant of Isildur, he was as worthy of Fíriel as could be. Yet Fornost was not Minas Anor and the halls of King Araphant paled in comparison to the Citadel.

However, the Queen was reasonable and she had promised her husband her attitude towards the Northerners would be impeccable – she'd comply to their demands, she'd feign humbleness. She also came ready to face the King of Arthedain and his difficult character, although she could not have guessed King Araphant's mood had worsened as of late. It was as if he had been holding himself back too long in front of the Gondorian princes and whatever shadow that clouded his mind had begun to spill, tainting his soul.

A few days before the Queen's arrival, during one long tedious dinner, King Araphant had managed to be simultaneously disappointed King Ondoher would not do him the honour of travelling north for the wedding and glad that another monarch would not step onto his lands. He was also a little crossed he would have to deal with a woman, for he would surely have never sent his wife in his stead to take care of important matters, and he hoped Queen Russiel would not try to be anything other than a charming guest at their children's wedding. At the beginning, no one seemed to notice his foul mood. Fíriel and her brothers were eagerly awaiting their mother to come and they spent a lot of time pacing along Fornost's high walls. Queen Gilwen was overwhelmed by the upcoming wedding, leading the preparations, and even Arvedui paid no heed to his father's snide remarks – he was also a little taken by the marriage, although for reasons quite different from his mother's.

Thus, when Queen Russiel arrived, King Araphant was having one of these bad days, during which his patience was but non-existent and he felt prisoner of a burden he alone carried. And even though the first few hours passed by without any incident, things escalated quickly after the welcoming banquet, when the King and Queen of Arthedain had invited Queen Russiel to a small intimate gathering in the King's parlour – of the younger generation, only Arvedui and Fíriel had been allowed. Queen Gilwen, enthusiastic as always, had only meant to get better acquainted to her Gondorian counterpart, yet her husband, who had had his fair share of wine cups, was less cordial.

"King Ondoher was kind enough to send his wife here, in the north, and his sons, and his daughter…" he said, after he had been poured plum liquor by his dutiful wife. "Pray, who shall I expect to be next? The steward or one your mighty captains?"

Queen Russiel was not one to be intimidated and she managed to smile, while replying, "I suppose you would rather be sent soldiers, for it is said winter is dangerous in Arthedain."

"Cold is harsh, indeed. Perhaps too harsh for men who were raised in the warmth of the south."

Hearing these words, Arvedui's jaw clenched and he thought it was time to put an end to this evening. However, before he could say anything, Queen Russiel scoffed.

"King Araphant, I am not sure you realize the differences in numbers and strength between our two kingdoms," she said, barely hiding her growing irritation. "I say, we are doing you a favor, sending our daughter here to marry your son, and promising to come to your aid, should you need it."

Sensing her mother was treading on a dangerous ground, Fíriel grabbed her hand, trying to get her attention, but her gesture was vain.

"Oh, I never was the one seeking this alliance, for it was your husband who implored me to listen to his plight and I cannot be blamed for having been cautious before agreeing to this… deal. There is more at stake for me to ride south to help your dear King battle these Wainriders, than for him to come here."

Perhaps he was envious, perhaps he wished the might of Gondor was his, perhaps he cursed his forefathers for having dismantled willingly the great kingdom of Arnor. Leading armies as mighty as Gondor's, would he have not crushed the Witch-King himself, without having to beg for help? Would not have his son been plagued by a sinister prophecy? Would not his name be another?

"Father, how dare you–", Arvedui muttered, glowering at the King.

"Let me speak, son!"

But Queen Russiel had become angered too and, rising from her seat, she exclaimed, "Should we then call off the alliance and the wedding? Should I tell my men that we are to leave on the morrow and bring back my daughter with me?"

"Oh, they will be wedded and I shall be loyal to my words and answer your call when the time comes!" said the King as he got up, ignoring his son's attempts to calm him. "Yet hear me well, Queen of Gondor, this alliance and those good intentions of yours will lead to naught, for we are doomed."

And King Araphant genuinely believed his own words. He was not trying to impress or to threaten Queen Russiel, he was merely enouncing a fact and he was convinced his sense of foreboding was a manifestation of the foresight his line had been gifted with – that was perhaps what everyone, including Arvedui, failed to understand about him.

"Father, how can you…" whispered the prince, truly abashed.

King Araphant said nothing more and he stormed out the room, soon followed by his wife who was confused, muttering unintelligible excuses as she exited.

"Queen Russiel, I must apologize for my father's awful behavior. Never did I imagine he would treat you in such a despicable way and if there is anything I can–"

"Worry not, Arvedui. It is in you I shall put my trust, not in him," said the Queen, still frowning. She'd never forget the words King Araphant had pronounced.

"Mother, you should go rest…" Fíriel said, distressed. "You must be weary from the road and…"

Taking a deep breath, Queen Russiel turned to her daughter and smiled. "Yes, my dear, you are right. I should like to rest, indeed."

"I'll show the way," Arvedui said, opening the door of the parlour.

And as he lead Queen Russiel and Fíriel through corridors and stairs, he swore to himself he'd never let his father ruin another evening.

* * *

"It was disastrous," said Fíriel, heaving a sigh, letting herself fall on a small divan.

After they had escorted Queen Russiel to her room, Arvedui had walked with her to her chambers and she had offered him to come in – it was perhaps not exactly proper, yet they both needed to vent.

"I can hardly blame your mother for her reaction, my father did all he could to provoke her." Arvedui sat down beside her and his hand grabbed hers. He did so absentmindedly, as if from now on having some sort of physical contact with her was an essential part of their discussions.

"Yet we have warned her that your father can be difficult to deal with. I… I disagree with him on many matters, yet one word from him and the alliance would be over."

Arvedui's brows furrowed, for something intrigued him about the commitment of Fíriel's family to the Dúnedain of the North.

"Do tell me, Fíriel… why did your father seek this alliance? Ever he has spoken of loyalty, of the elder kings, yet I must admit your mother is not wrong when she says Arthedain needs Gondor more than Gondor needs Arthedain. We barely have enough men to resist the assaults of the Witch-King, and so few we could spare if your kingdom was to seek our aid…"

"My father, like yours, has fears of his own," Fíriel explained. "The Witch King in the North, the Wainriders in the South, they share a common goal – our downfall. For, Northerners or Southerners, we are Dúnedain, descendants of those who came from Númenor, and he reckons it is precisely what has ignited our enemies' loath."

"These wars would be orchestrated?"

"Perhaps the evil that destroyed Númenor is not yet satisfied."

"Why has your father not shared these suspicions with us?"

"He meant to help Arthedain, more than he wished for aid himself, yet, upon discussing with your father, he thought it appeared wiser to make this alliance seem as equal as possible... And has not your father guessed some of it, already?"

"I suppose. The Witch-King is by no mean an ordinary foe, we have long wondered if he was not some wraith that had fled from Mordor when its master was defeated…"

As he pronounced these words, a shiver ran through Fíriel's back and Arvedui, letting go her hand, passed his arm around her shoulders and pressed her against him.

"Had not Artamir told you about this?" she asked, in a low voice.

"No… He might have presumed you had told me already," said Arvedui and he considered her awhile, his expression serious. "I am sorry, Fíriel. Had I been less obtuse, we could have had this conversation long ago."

And many others, for he had found a valuable ally in her. It was inexcusable he had not sought out her opinion earlier, convinced as he had been that her brothers were his only valuable Gondorian counterparts.

"Oh, truth be told, I am not sure I would have had the courage to confide much to you," she admitted, thinking about these long winter months, when she had felt relieved whenever she could avoid him.

"We lost precious time, I'm afraid."

Whether he was talking about the alliance or their newly found intimacy, Fíriel knew not and she did not inquire about it. She was pleased merely to sit with him, in her chambers, far from all the bustle of the King's halls and far from the King himself. It was quite enough they could speak openly to one another, quite enough that they were learning to trust each other.

Fíriel said nothing, yet she leaned over to kiss his cheek – his beard was freshly trimmed, it tickled a little. She was still too shy to tell him what it meant to her that he was there, by her side, holding her. Yet she thought he understood, for he smiled and tightened his embrace around her, his lips brushing her hair.


	10. A Royal Wedding

**Celridel** : Thanks! They're a tad slow, but they'll warm even more eventually :)

This chapter feels quite miraculous, I was wondering if I'd finish it in time. I'll be on a trip for almost 3 weeks, with no laptop and plenty of things to do, so, to anyone who cares, this story won't be updated before November. I have the next chapter pretty much outlined so I'll probably start writing it down anyways…

But back in this chapter, we'll follow Meldis and Chamberlain Cirion, since they've been around for a while, but have had the chance to shine yet (also I'm not a big fan of wedding scenes, so following them was a nice way to avoid it).

There are a lot of people blushing and giggling in this chapter… I have to admit that I myself blush easily, so I relate to this a lot haha (I giggle like an idiot too, from time to time)

* * *

 **Chapter 10 – A Royal Wedding**

 _It was a lovely morning and Meldis wished to tarry outside a little, as she was on her way to Fíriel's chambers. There was a wide fountain in one of the King's Halls cloisters and she had wanted to gaze at the blackbirds bathing in it – she really loved the way their feathers ruffled when they flapped their wings in the water. Yet she did not enjoy this spectacle very long, for she had caught a glimpse of a familiar silhouette coming towards her and it was that of smug Chamberlain Cirion. His loud steps ruined everything and the blackbirds flew away._

 _Meldis tended to avoid the Chamberlain, as well as many other lords and ladies who dwelled in the King's halls or who spent most their days there. Although she came from a noble house, her lineage was not especially prestigious and ever since her great-grandfather had settled in big house near Bree, it was almost as if her family had been forgotten in Fornost. Her mother, however, was kin with Queen Gilwen and Arvedui had oft visited his relatives during his younger days, for he enjoyed the countryside and the simple lifestyle that came with it. Meldis was aware it was because of the prince she had been admitted in the King's halls – he had wanted her to become a companion for Fíriel, but he had also wished she would get her chance to be acquainted with high society._

 _Fíriel's friendship was something Meldis cherished deeply and she had also grown quite fond of some the young ladies with whom she sewed and embroidered. Yet, aside from them, she struggled to be accepted by the other nobles and, at times, she felt scorned by them – she could almost hear them call her 'peasant' behind her back. Meldis would have rather not paid attention to them, and most of the time she did well at ignoring them, but it happened that she hoped they would consider her as one of their peers._

 _Although, in this moment, she only willed she'd be left alone with the fountain and the birds._

 _"_ _Meldis, it is a pleasure to meet you in this charming cloister," the Chamberlain said and it seemed he was perfectly courteous for once._

 _"_ _My Lord," she said, bowing her head quickly. "I was merely having a look at the fountain on my way to the princess' room."_

 _"_ _Well, I have to confess it is one of my favourite place in these halls," he told her, smiling. "I would linger here awhile, yet I am also expected elsewhere and the King has little patience left these days… I feel weary already…"_

 _"_ _The preparations for the wedding must be quite a workload," Meldis said, tentatively – she felt no particular sympathy for him, but it seemed like the right remark to make._

 _"_ _The preparations? Oh, the Queen handles most it and she does so with great talent. His Majesty is more concerned by the Gondorian delegation and its growing numbers." And the more Gondorians the King saw, the worse his mood was._

 _"_ _It is such a delight to meet so many of them…" said Meldis and, even though she would have gladly sung the praises of their southern guests, she fell silent._

 _The chamberlain's face had darkened. "His Majesty does not share your enthusiasm. Dozens and dozens of Gondorians have followed the princes and the Queen and we know not when they intend to leave, for some have expressed the wish to see winter in the north. They could become…_ cumbersome _," he explained, quoting the King himself._

 _"_ _It that what you truly think, my Lord?" Meldis exclaimed and she was a little shocked._

 _"_ _It is what I used to think, yet these days my mind wavers… Arvedui has put his trust in the Gondorians and he always has had a good instinct. His Majesty, on the other hand, fears for the sovereignty of our kingdom, for there is no doubt our Southern allies are far more powerful than we are."_

 _"_ _The Gondorians are Dúnedain, they are more akin to us than any other people in Middle-earth. Thus, why would His Majesty be wary of them?"_

 _"_ _Perhaps he has not forgotten Dúnedain are not above fighting other Dúnedain."_

 _"_ _I hardly believe Gondor would threaten us in any way… They are under attack themselves."_

 _"_ _Indeed," said Cirion, nodding, and he thought so himself. Yet he did not know how to convince King Araphant it was useless to waste his energies on antagonizing the Gondorians. Despite being a robust man, the King was getting old, even for one of his kind, and with the passing of years his character had worsened – despair seemed to overwhelm him at times. "Well, I do not doubt the wedding shall seal the alliance and, aside from a few… verbal incidents, nothing should stand in the way of the renewed friendship with the southern Dúnedain," the Chamberlain told Meldis, puffing his chest, as if to restore his own confidence._

 _"_ _I suppose you are right," she agreed and she did believe Arthedain and Gondor's ties would tighten far more than most Northerners could expect._

 _Unlike most people in Fornost, Meldis had spent the last months in the company of Gondorians – and it was true their numbers were growing in the north. She knew Fíriel better than any other in the King's hall, save for Arvedui perhaps, and she had spent time with her brothers and, recently, her mother. They were determined to forge this alliance, their minds were set, yet the lords and ladies of Fornost did not seem to have realized it, thinking the Southerners were playing a game and had merely taken a fancy to traveling North._

 _Hopefully Arvedui was cleverest than most and his will to ally to Dúnedain and to fight their enemies was as strong as the Gondorians'. And though he was less brutal with his words than was his father, his influence over the court grew slowly and steadily and Meldis understood the Chamberlain would now side with the prince_

 _"_ _Well… I should be going, as I said, his Majesty's patience dwindles quite fast these days," muttered lord Cirion, glancing Meldis._

 _She did not notice the longing in his gaze, oblivious as she could be sometimes._

 _"_ _Of course, my Lord, you should not keep the King waiting."_

 _And, having no more to say, they parted, and the Chamberlain was a bit reluctant to go. In his eyes, Meldis was by far the prettiest lady in Fornost. He loved her long black hair, the cascade of curls that fell on her back, and he loved the way her dark eyes sparkles when she smiled or laughed – ah, and those dimples… But there was more to it than looks. She was smart, she was sensible, she was… adorable._

 _And, unfortunately, she always seemed to flee before him._

* * *

 _The first days of June were happy days in Fornost and perhaps that was when Meldis realized just how glad she was to have left her father's house – for a while, at least. It seemed no more Gondorians would come from the south, yet guests to the royal wedding had been arriving from all over Arthedain, and from more exotic places._

 _There were Elves from the Grey Havens, sent by lord Círdan, and Elves from Rivendell, and among them were the sons of Elrond, fair and mighty. King Araphant welcomed them with great deference, thanking them for the friendship they ever displayed towards him and his people, and although Meldis thought he was sincere, she noticed he said it in a loud and clear voice so he would be heard by Queen Russiel and her sons. The close ties his kingdom had maintained with the Elven lords was something he prided himself with immensely, although he could barely take any credit for it._

 _However, Meldis did not pay much attention to the King or to the Queen of Gondor, or to any men or women for that matter, as she found herself enthralled by the glorious vision of the Elves. She had seen some of them before, but so rarely, so briefly that they had always seemed ethereal to her, as if belonging to another world – and perhaps they really were just visitors in Middle-earth, as old legends suggested. They were like beautiful statues that had come to life, surrounded by light and laughter, and wherever they went, they glided gracefully, and Meldis blushed every time she met eyes with one of them._

 _Of course, they expressed the wish to visit the greenhouses, knowing trees and plants from Númenor were to be found inside, and for once King Araphant seemed to believe it was useful Fíriel had spent so much energy into restoring them. The laurinquë, particularly, caused quite a stir and it was admired loudly. The praises of the Elves were music to Meldis' ears, almost literally, and she was unable to do much in their presence, aside from staring at them and gaping. Fíriel was more at ease with them than Meldis was, for she had seen some of their folk when she had travelled to Dor-en-Ernil, not far from Edhellond, yet she was also a little bewitched by them – never had Meldis heard her giggle so often._

 _Though the Elves were perhaps the most remarkable guests to have arrived in Fornost, they were not the only delegations that entered the city the week before the wedding. Men from Cardolan and from Rhudaur came as well, proudly wearing their colors, and while they were not as striking as the Elves, they were welcomed in due form. King Araphant was all smiles when he met the emissaries, not that he was especially pleased to see them, yet it was quite a treat for him to navigate throughout his halls with them in his tow. He took his time, introducing them to the Gondorian lords, to the princes and to the Queen, and relished to see these men from petty kingdoms bow so low in front of the Southerners._

 _"_ _I believe he agreed to this alliance only to stuff it down his neighbors' throats," Meldis heard lord Faramir muttered to his brother._

 _Artamir did not make any reply, yet Meldis saw his lips slightly curving up. The princes had always been admirable when dealing with King Araphant, or so she had heard, but when they knew their words could not reach his ears, they allowed themselves a few remarks of this kind – especially Faramir who, much like his mother, had to exert great control on himself not to lose patience with the old sovereign._

 _Before she had become better acquainted with the Southerners, Meldis had never really formed an opinion of her own about King Araphant. And even then, she did not mind political issues for it seemed beyond her, yet there one was thing she had understood about the King that she would not forget: he was not a family man. He did treat well the Queen, but he had no real love for her, and as for his son, he had let him grown in solitude, the shadow of the prophecy hovering above his head._

 _Meldis was not surprised Arvedui had enjoyed staying with her family – they were not close kin, but they had always welcomed him warmly._

* * *

 _On the morning of the wedding, Meldis entered Fíriel's chambers at dawn, in company of Queen Russiel. While they would not do much with their own hands, there were a lot of people and things they would have to supervise in order to transform the princess in a splendid bride – the Queen was determined to cover her daughter with as much jewels as possible. Overall, the preparations went well and Meldis was fascinated by the princess' rich garbs and the elaborate braids the Gondorian servants did with Fíriel's hair. And Queen Russiel herself took care of the final touch, a small golden tiara on her daughter's hair, and she was adjusting it carefully and making sure it would stay in place long enough._

 _"_ _You are not too displeased with him, are you?" inquired the Queen, her fingers running along Fíriel's braids._

 _She had meant to ask this for a while, but she knew her daughter might be flustered by it._

 _"_ _He is a good man, I daresay it could have been worse," the princess replied quickly and such modesty made Meldis grin._

 _Her friend had not been very opened about her feelings for Arvedui, but it had been easy enough to notice how she had warmed up to him and how he seemed to have become charmed by her – surely Queen Russiel had gathered as much._

 _"_ _A good man, no more? The way you look at him, one could believe you hold him in highest regard."_

 _"_ _I… I came to know him better, it is true I do consider him with great respect."_

 _"_ _Respect? Oh, Fíriel, dearest, there is no need to be shy with me. It is love I see shining in your eyes and, if I am not mistaken, in his too."_

 _Meldis had never seen her friend blushing so furiously, the redness of her cheeks swallowing her freckles._

 _"_ _It is all so new to me, Mother…" muttered the princess and, despite her embarrassment, she could not help but smile a little._

 _Queen Russiel let out a small laugh, gently stroking her daughter's hair._

 _"_ _You know how I feel about this wedding… or rather, how I felt. Losing you to this alliance seemed unnecessary and marrying you to a man whose birth was marked by an ambiguous prophecy… seemed risky at best. Our people so easily ignore he is called the Last King, yet, as your mother, I cannot discard this foretelling name of his, not when your fate shall be tied to his. And now that I met the King…"_

 _"_ _Mother, Arvedui is nothing like his father, you–"_

 _"_ _I know, Fíriel, he has been spared by the shadows that have overcome his father. And even King Araphant… he is old. He barks but does not bite." Queen Russiel sighed, putting a kiss on Fíriel's forehead, like a blessing._

 _"_ _Thus…?"_

 _"_ _Thus, I have come to think you might be happy here. And perhaps… perhaps you and Arvedui shall fare well, perhaps he will change his name for a good reason."_

 _"_ _I dearly hope so…" whispered Fíriel._

 _"_ _Well, today we cannot afford to brood about the possible outcomes of an old prophecy," said the Queen, finally satisfied with the way the tiara rested on her daughter's hair.. "It is almost time for you to go meet your betrothed and I do believe his jaw will drop when he shall see you!"_

 _Arvedui was a man who scarcely displayed his emotions in public and he did not gape upon seeing Fíriel entering the great hall, where the formal ceremony was to be held. But Queen Russiel was sharp-eyed and, despite the prince's dark beard, she did not fail to notice how he blushed when her daughter walked to him – he was not made of ice, after all._

* * *

 _Later that day, when they exchanged their vows, Arvedui and Fíriel both smiled, staring at each other, almost forgetting the hundreds of guests who surrounded them – the ceremony was far from being intimate. There were no grand gestures, all was to be found in small details: the genuine focus of Arvedui when he had passed the golden ring on Fíriel's finger, for he had tried to be delicate, or the way the princess's hands had slipped around his neck, as she stood on tiptoe to welcome his kiss._

 _It was obvious they had become enamoured with one another, Meldis thought, and all the guests had probably noticed that this arranged marriage was no burden for either of the spouses. The celebration seemed to work some magic on the prince and the princess and during a few blissful hours, nothing could disturb their happiness – even the Witch-King appeared to be a far and absurd threat. Although she knew about it, Meldis was surprised by the complicity they displayed and, seeing the way Arvedui's gaze softened whenever his grey eyes landed on Fíriel, she could not help but feel a tinge of jealousy stir in her chest. She did wonder when it would be her turn to tie the knot, yet she did not wonder for long._

 _Perhaps she usually was not one who was much sought after, but on this glorious wedding day, Meldis became the object of a great deal of attention. First were the Gondorians, those who had been lurking around her for a while and who thought their princess had made the right choice when befriending Meldis, for she was one of the loveliest maidens in Fornost. Then a few young men from Cardolan and Rhudaur joined in, because they had not failed to spot the girl with the long curly black hair who was twirling merrily with the Southerners. At that point, Beril and other ladies came to Meldis's rescue, luring some of her suitors away by claiming them as their new dance partners._

 _And at last, the lords of Fornost seemed to notice something was going on and they decided that since Bree was part of their kingdom, countryside or not, Meldis should save her energy to waltz with them before she even should consider dancing with others. It ended beingl a very energetic whirlwind of frills and laughter and hours passed before Meldis could discreetly slip away – she was in dire need of a fresh drink and some food._

 _And it was right when she was not-so-gracefully devouring her second slice of raspberry tart, in a discreet corner of the hall, that Queen Gilwen came by her side, smiling brightly._

 _"_ _Ah, my dear Meldis, are you enjoying yourself?" she inquired._

 _The Queen was walking from one group of guests to another, chatting a little and making sure everyone was having a good time, yet she too wanted to get some of this delicious tart._

 _"_ _Very much, your Highness. It is a grand feast."_

 _"_ _I must say I am quite delighted myself… and who knew my son and Fíriel got along so well," said the Queen, giggling and glancing at Meldis. "Had she perhaps confessed some of her secrets to you?"_

 _"_ _She is not very expansive, yet I have gathered that she and the prince have grown closer over the last weeks," Meldis replied modestly._

 _Queen Gilwen beamed, yet she said nothing, and this was a noteworthy event in itself. She had never worried about her son finding a bride, for he was a prince after all, however she had never hoped he'd be happy to marry. And while she'd never admit it, the Queen had also doubted Fíriel would succeed in becoming intimate with Arvedui._

 _"_ _Your Majesty, lady Meldis, I think I shall have a taste of this pie myself."_

 _Meldis had just finished her third slice and she was too busy wiping her mouth with one of those embroidered handkerchiefs she had sewn herself to greet Chamberlain Cirion properly. Beside her, Queen Gilwen quickly swallowed a mouthful of honey cake before regaining her usual composure._

 _"_ _Lord Cirion, I believe you've had your fair share of entertainment this afternoon, have you not? I daresay, the ladies won't give you a rest."_

 _"_ _Oh, I barely danced two or three times, your Majesty, yet I have to compliment you, for this wedding is a success and I have heard nothing but praises from our guests."_

 _"_ _Thank you, Chamberlain, I must say, our efforts have paid off… Ah, this reminds me I should not linger here too long, I need to find the stewards and make sure we will not run out of wine too soon!"_

 _Before leaving, she put a hand on the Chamberlain's arm, whispering in his ear, "Do be kind and dance with Meldis. She has been standing here alone awhile already, and I fear the poor creature has had little entertainment so far."_

 _It was a lie, but the Queen fancied herself to be an excellent matchmaker and she had decided it was time for the Chamberlain to consider taking a bride._

 _"_ _I was… I… Of course, your Majesty," muttered Cirion, taken aback._

 _He might have looked disappointed, but he was not. Truth be told, he had planned on asking Meldis for a dance and simply had not had the opportunity to do it thus far. And since it had been a request from the Queen, he allowed himself to hope Meldis had maybe been too shy to approach him herself._

 _"_ _Shall we…?" he said, extending his arm to Meldis._

 _She took it, avoiding his gaze. He was not exactly displeasing to look at, yet he had proved to be haughty at times and Meldis had become a bit wary of him – she imagined he had a rather poor opinion of a_ muddy peasant _like her. But it soon turned out he was nice to her and, quite frankly, he was an excellent dance partner, agile and graceful. As far as rhythm was concerned, they were a good match and for a while they lost themselves in music._

 _And twirling around, they eventually collided into Arvedui and Fíriel._

 _"_ _My Lord, my Lady, you are quite a sight to behold," lord Cirion said in a very formal manner, as he bowed his head slightly._

 _Beside him, Meldis felt the need to curtsy, for there was a calm assurance about the prince and the princess and they both looked majestic – that Arvedui looked regal could not surprise Cirion, but Fíriel caught his eyes. It was not just the dresses, outrageously bright and rich, or the jewels, sparkling and finely crafted: there was a gleam in her eyes the chamberlain had failed to notice so far. A flame burned in her grey irises, small but steady, and perhaps nothing could quench it, and it was familiar to Cirion, for the same fire lighted Arvedui's gaze._

 _The Chamberlain could not help but stare at the princess. In fall, when the little princess, shy and discreet, had come to Arthedain, she had disappointed many who had had hoped to be dazzled. They had mocked her freckles, her shyness and the way she had so quickly befriended a lowly maiden like Meldis – but what other choice had they left her, back then?_

 _Cirion himself had deemed Fíriel to be too dull for Arvedui. As the Prince's friend, he could not help it, for he had hoped for a more assertive lady, someone who had been strong enough to face the harshness of winter in their lands. Yet since then his opinion of her had shifted and he did not dislike Fíriel, for he had understood she was willing to adjust to the northern life. Her attachment to the greenhouses was a little odd, but it was her only quirk and even he had to recognize her hard work had benefited the palace. It was also impressive she had somehow managed to hunt down all the old gardeners and botanists of Fornost._

 _And Cirion had been impressed by Arvedui's own words about his bride-to-be, those he had told him a few weeks ago, in strict confidence._

 _"_ _She is not_ dazzling _, yet would such a woman have suited me? Perhaps she will never have to display her strength the way a man would, but she is strong within, she is clever and she has courage. Whatever awaits us, I know she will stand by my side… and that is a relief I had never dared hoped for."_

 _This, above all, had had the Chamberlain thinking._ _It'd take a few months, perhaps a year or two, but the prince and the princess would eventually outshine the old King and the Queen, or so Cirion reckoned. And it was enough of an accomplishment already, for it'd bring vitality to the realm and the people of Arthedain needed a new vision. They needed to dream, they needed to believe the Witch-King could be defeated, and Arvedui and Fíriel were the only ones who could make such hopes come to life._

* * *

It seemed only logical Elves would attend the wedding. Círdan was an ally of Arthedain (as we'll see later) and Elrond, well… is almost family (and he'll foster most of Arvedui and Fíriel's descendants). However, I don't believe it'd be coherent for Círdan and Elrond to come themselves, during the 3rd Age they seem pretty 'static', like rooted in one place, but they'd send emissaries and gifts at least.

Lots of fluff coming in the next chapter!


	11. A Bridal Suite

Well, it did not take me that much time writing this chapter, but it took weeks and weeks before I could sit down and actually write it. As I said before, I was away from home and when I came back I got ill, I could not stare at a screen without getting very dizzy for almost two weeks (on the bright side, I ended up reading a lot). Thankfully, I got better...

Anyhow, the story goes on and here is a little fluff because they deserve it.

* * *

 **Chapter 11 – A Bridal Suite**

Fíriel had woken up, but she kept her eyes closed a while longer. She felt pleasantly warm and she knew part of this warmth was not hers, for beside her was Arvedui, her husband, the man she would spend the rest of her life with… And this notion filled her with unspeakable bliss. Fíriel had long put aside any romantic dreams she could have had entertained when she had been younger, yet one night had been enough for them to come back. Arvedui had perhaps not be the man she had hoped for, as she ever had had a soft spot for tales of rogue adventurers, yet she dared believe now that she could have hardly been luckier – she'd almost forget she was so far from home.

She took a deep breath and inhaling Arvedui's smell instantly took her back to the night before, to that moment when they had first entered their new chambers. Very little attention had been paid to their new accommodations, even less to the decorations the Queen had spent a whole day putting up together. There had been candles and flower wreaths everywhere – and it should be noted it was quite lovely – but their minds had been elsewhere.

As soon as the door had been closed behind them, Arvedui's mouth had been on Fíriel's and this kiss had been like no other they had shared before. They had been yearning for this moment all day, although they had not told each other about it, and such was their relief to finally be alone together that there had been barely no more shyness between them. Arvedui had been quick to discard his jacket and his vest and Fíriel had found she was glad to have gained a quicker access to his chest. Her hands had slid nimbly under his shirt and it had been a delight to feel his skin shiver under her touch, for she had loved the idea that she could induce this sort reaction from his part.

But as Arvedui had been fumbling with the laces on the back of her dress, slowly pulling her towards the bed, Fíriel had tensed a little at the anticipation of what was coming. Hopefully, the prince was a gentleman and he had understood her hesitations to go further. Thus, he had put a halt to his efforts of undressing her and, kissing her once more, he had taken a few seconds to calm himself down before trying to reassure her.

"Fíriel… if you wish to wait… if you would rather not… Just say so," he had said in a low voice, cupping her face.

It would have been a lie to say Fíriel had not thought about it, or wondered how it would feel, and these ponderings had indeed contributed to her growing nervousness. And it was a relief that it had occurred to Arvedui it would be nice to let her chose what she wanted to do – although her decision had already been made.

"I… I want to…" She had glanced at him, suddenly bashful. "There is no need to wait…"

Arvedui had been unable not to smile. He would have never forced her to do anything against her will, yet if she said she was ready…

"I will be gentle, I would not… never…" he had muttered, putting a kiss on her forehead.

"I know," she had said and it had been her turn to smile. Despite being a bit anxious, Fíriel trusted Arvedui and… well, deep down, she had longed for more than kisses.

"Shall we, then?" And he had swept her off her feet and, in his arms, she had been light as a feather.

What had happened next, Fíriel did not remember it accurately. What was left of this night were, for the most part, sensations: the pleasure of being held so closely by Arvedui, the hastiness with which his mouth had ran down her neck and the delightful feeling of his skin rubbing against hers – this specific thought would probably make her blush for the rest of her life. And above all, she would remember what unexpected pleasure had brought this first night with her husband.

* * *

Arvedui laid on his back, his bare chest partially covered with a thin blanket, and he had one arm firmly wrapped around Fíriel. The princess was nestled against him, her head resting on his shoulder and he felt ridiculously happy just watching her sleep. For quite some time now he had been looking forwards the pleasures of matrimony, but he had not imagined things so simple as waking beside her would bring him such satisfaction.

Not even a year had passed since he had first met Fíriel and then he had seen the Gondorian princess as no more than a convenient way of securing the alliance with the Dúnedain of the south. Months had passed and they had become friends, and since that night by the ruins of Annúminas, they had grown even more intimate – that was when he had realized weddings were not just a matter of formalities, they also involved a lot of kisses and caresses.

Arvedui did not resist stroking Fíriel's soft hair and he saw her stir. Their gazes met, in their eyes shone the same light.

"Have you long been awake?" Her hand lingered on his chest, the tip of her fingers tickling him gently.

"Since sunrise," he replied, grabbing her hand and putting a kiss on it.

Fíriel glanced at the windows, the Sun was still low, yet Arvedui must have been awake for an hour at least.

"You could have woken me up." She propped herself on her elbow, smiling.

There was a slight blush on her cheeks, as she looked at him, yet she felt at ease.

"There is no hurry for the moment, we are not expected in the Great Hall before noon."

Gazing at her, at her ruffled hair and her small sleepy eyes, he almost told her how endearing she was. But Arvedui was shy with words and he found it harder to compliment his wife in such a casual context. It had been simpler to tell her she was splendid when she had been all dressed up for the wedding, for it was part of social conventions. However, he did hope his gestures made up for his lack of gallant speech – at least, the princess seemed content thus far.

"Oh, right, the celebrations are not over…" Fíriel muttered and she remembered that, for the next few days, she was bound to a tight schedule that would allow few moments of marital peace such as this morning.

She was surprised herself at how comfortable she felt, laying down in bed with Arvedui. She pressed herself against him, breathing in his scent yet again, and a shiver ran down her back when he pulled her closer, both his arms tightly wrap around her. Soon enough Fíriel found herself on top of him and her mouth was on his, while Arvedui's hands, having slipped under her nightgown, roamed all over her body. At some point, they rolled, laughing, and they were both ready to enjoy themselves a little more before having to tend to official duties.

Thus, they did not hear the knocks on the door. They did not notice either that someone opened it.

"My Lord, we have –" The intendant stopped abruptly in mid-sentence and turned around, hurrying to step out of the room. "I beg your pardon, my Lord, I… I had no intention of…" he stuttered, while he exited as swiftly as he could, bowing lowly.

This interruption had been so sudden and brief that Fíriel almost believed she had imagined it, yet she had frozen, mortified. Arvedui had had the reflex of pulling the bedsheets over them, but even he had been caught unaware and was not above being embarrassed.

"I suppose he did not expect to find you here…" he whispered, glancing at the door, glad it had been shut.

"Why would he…?" Fíriel asked, taken aback.

But Arvedui had rapidly recovered from the shock and he intended to resume their previous activities, wishing to take advantage of every minute of his time alone with his wife. And Fíriel quickly forgot to wonder why the intendant had been so surprised to find her in bed with her husband, the morning following their wedding…

* * *

This day was a busy one, for the newlyweds toured the city and took part in the merrymakings their people held in their honour. In some ways, Fíriel appreciated these rejoicings more than the formal celebrations of the previous day and she could tell Arvedui felt the same, for he graciously listened to all the congratulations they received and ate all the food that was brought to them, drank all the ale they were served – his appetite was quite ferocious.

The soldiers stationed in Fornost had also prepared an event in honor of their prince's wedding and it was yet another occasion to realize how important the alliance was for the people of the North. Fíriel noticed the sons of lord Elrond attended this feast as well and they seemed to be familiar with most of the Dúnedain – it crossed her mind they might have battled alongside the Northerners on a certain number of times.

There was something heartwarming about seeing all these men celebrate and Arvedui was obviously thrilled, yet Fíriel felt a little out of place and, some time after dusk, she decided to head back to her new quarters. Her mother had already retired to hers, weary from the insufferable company of King Araphant, and her brothers had been invited by Chamberlain Cirion to taste some of the northern wine stocked in the castle's cellars. She had sought Meldis, in vain, as her friend was probably still in the city, dancing and singing with other ladies, and so, at last, she beckoned a few of her maids and went back to her new chambers.

"My Lady, we thought you would be tired from your day, thus we have taken the liberty of drawing you a bath in your room," said the oldest of the servants

"Indeed, I would love to bath," said the princess, nodding, and to her surprise the maid opened a door farther down the corridor.

For a moment, she thought there was another entrance to the rooms she and Arvedui had shared the night before, but she soon discovered a whole new suite that had apparently been readied especially for her. It mirrored almost exactly the chambers on the other side of the wall, for there was a large bed, nice furniture and a vast chimney, and it dawned upon Fíriel that she had been given her own space, next to her husband's, for it had been expected that the two of them would lead separate lives. That at least explained the intendant's surprise, on the morning, for he had surely assumed that Fíriel had chosen to spend night in _her_ bed – after all, she and Arvedui had been very discreet about their growing mutual attraction.

"Perhaps you have not noticed it yet, my Lady, but all of your belongings have been transferred here and, of course, if you wish to make any changes, we stand ready to help you. The Queen herself shall see that you are satisfied with your new accommodations."

"Thank you," Fíriel whispered. And, managing to smile, she said it again, in a clearer voice, "Thank you. The Queen's generosity truly knows no bound."

Minutes later, as she was immersed in her bath, Fíriel took some time to contemplate her situation. A golden ring gleamed on her left hand, yet she felt a little bit stupid, alone in the room. Something told her Meldis would not dare to barge in this side of the palace, not in the way she did before the wedding anyhow, and perhaps her own mother and brothers would have themselves announced before paying her a visit. As a wedded woman, she had earned some privacy, but for the moment she felt lonely and a bit disappointed, and even the sight of her botanic volumes, stacked on her nightstand, did little to improve her mood.

Once she was all clean, wearing a brand-new nightgown she had found in a wardrobe, she still avoided the bed carefully. It looked comfortable enough, and it was wider even than the one in her old room, but every time her gaze wandered on the pillows and the quilt, she was reminded of the previous night and of Arvedui's warmth. There was no denying she longed to be with him again and she felt a little puzzled she had been assigned her own quarters – was she supposed to go knock at his door, hoping he would welcome her in _his_ chambers? Or was he the one who would come fetch her? She was not even sure he was back from the barracks, she had not heard a sound coming from the other side of the wall.

A little pondering did Fíriel good and she decided she needed to stop going in circles like a fool. She mustered some courage and knocked at the door communicating between hers and Arvedui's quarters. She did it briefly and perhaps not very strongly, and, not expecting any answer, she turned the doorknob and entered the room. A quick glance around confirmed what she had suspected: Arvedui was absent. That should not have surprised her, let alone chagrined her, yet Fíriel frowned and her heart sank in her chest when her gaze fell on the flower wreaths and the melted candles.

However, the sight of the ruffled bedsheets had a completely different effect on her, for a wide smile spread on her face – that was where she hoped to sleep again. As she was exploring the vast room and its antechamber, the princess considered waiting for her husband in one of the armchair, nearby the hearth. Truth be told, she had even started daydreaming about him finding her asleep there and then carrying her in their bed, when she heard footsteps behind her.

"Fíriel, is there something you are looking for?" Arvedui inquired, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"…You," she replied genuinely as she could not find any good excuse.

"Oh," he said, "I… I was in the study." He pointed at a door – yet another one she had failed to notice – beside him.

"I did not know there was…" her voice trailed and she did not finish her sentence.

There was no need to mention to him how ignorant she had been about all these arrangements.

"I believe these chambers are wider than yours, but I…" He paused. "I would rather not consider one side as mine and the other as yours… This, all of this, it is _ours_. Unless, of course, you do not feel comfortable with it…"

He seemed to be at loss with words and Fíriel let out a giggle. There was something very amusing about seeing this tall, powerful man struggle to tell her he wanted to keep her by his side – lucky she was observant.

"It feels awfully empty in my room," she said.

"Stay here, then." He cupped her face, his thumbs rubbing her cheeks gently.

What Fíriel knew not was that Arvedui too had been hesitant, wondering if it would be proper to disturb his bride while she was in her chambers.

"Have you long been waiting here?" he asked and a smile finally appeared on his lips.

"No, I'm afraid it took me an hour to come up with the courage of entering this room," she admitted, laughing at her own silliness.

"I suppose I can be intimidating."

"Very much," she told him, chuckling.

He had been intimidating, at least during her first months in Fornost, for there was something austere about him. His existence was devoted to the defense of his kingdom, despite the knowledge that he might ultimately fail at it, and it had forged his character over the years. The prophecy had not lead him to scepticism or despair, yet his melancholy could be mistaken for coldness. But Fíriel had understood he had a golden heart and this discovery, she cherished dearly – it was the reason she had fallen in love with Arvedui.

* * *

Following the wedding, many days of celebration had been planned in Fornost and guests had to be entertained for another week at the least. Although merrymakings were agreeable, there was nothing very romantic about them and it reminded Fíriel that her union to Arvedui was first and foremost political. Truth was, she spent little time in her husband's company during these days, for they both had duties of their own to attend to and they met only during meals, or sometimes to dance. The prince devoted most of his efforts to the delegations that had come from Rhudaur and Cardolan and he was also quite taken with the Gondorians, and oft he was seen with Artamir and Faramir. For him, it was crucial to secure the ties with the northern kingdoms, but also to strengthen the newly sealed alliance with the south.

Fíriel, on the other hand, was once more put aside from these dealings and she suspected her father-in-law had something to do with it. However, her exasperation at King Araphant's attempts to exclude from all serious discussions was short-lived, for the chance to become more acquainted with Elves presented itself to her. The King seemed to keep sending them her way, especially when she was with her mother – he meant to show the Southerners that the people of Arthedain only could claim true friendship with the Elven folk. Hopefully, the princess was truly fascinated by the emissaries of the Grey Havens and of Rivendell, and so were the other Gondorians in general, and it was far from being a burden to spend lovely afternoons in their company.

They were quite different in manners and speech than the Elves she had encountered in Dor-en-Ernil, not far from Edhellond, and Fíriel was especially impressed by one of the lords from Rivendell. He was one of these rare High Elves who still lingered in Middle-earth and the light in his eyes was truly hypnotizing – Fíriel secretly wished she could stare at it long enough to catch sight of the Trees, for it was said it was the reflection of Laurelin and Telperion that shone so brightly. Yet the Elves were not only dazzling, they also proved to be excellent teachers, whether it was about botanic or songs of old. And they kept her busy for hours, commenting all the plants and trees of the treehouses, and their lore was such that Fíriel would have almost forgotten about her desire to be reunited with her husband.

For, at night, Fíriel and Arvedui left behind diplomacy, dinners and dancing and, in the privacy of their chambers, they quietly resumed their exploration of marital delights.


	12. A Sad Goodbye

**Celridel:** thank you :)

I haven't mentioned it before, but Arnor's partition occurred some time after T.A. 861, so we're almost one millennium after that (all in all, Arnor did not last very long).

* * *

 **Chapter 12 – A Sad Goodbye**

Summer passed by quickly. It was a wonderful season, filled with joy and laughter, and Fíriel cherished every moment of it – even years later she would look back at it fondly. Under the Sun and the clear blue sky, Arthedain's wild landscapes unraveled unexpected beauties and exploring the North Downs and the moors surrounding Fornost kept the Gondorians quite busy. Arvedui, Artamir and Faramir went hunting together on numerous occasions, and sometimes Fíriel joined them, and she also traveled to Bree, which seemed a funny idea to many. The princess had wished to see where Meldis' family dwelled and although the town was small, it was prosperous enough, for it was located at the crossing of east-west and north-south routes. There was not much to see there, yet the princess enjoyed the trip immensely, because the cottage of Meldis' parents was a charming place where she had been welcomed warmly – and she had also been thrilled to meet some of the Halflings living in the area.

Only the absence of her father tarnished some of those days and even the use of the palantír could barely keep at bay her desire to see him. However, she still managed to reassure herself, for time would come soon when she would travel South and when she would see Minas Anor once more – there the King would wait for her. Upon the end of summer, Fíriel held onto that thought more than ever and, as her brothers and mother's departure neared, she promised herself to bid them goodbye serenely. After all, they could not stay in Arthedain forever, they were needed elsewhere, and she, she had to live her life on her own.

It was on a quiet morning of early September that most of the Gondorian delegation left Fornost. King Araphant himself had come for the send-off and it was no secret the departure of his southern guests was a relief for him. Although the King's jolly mood should have surprised her, Queen Russiel did not even notice it, for she was too grieved to have to part from her daughter to bother with anything else. Her days as a Queen had taught her to conceal her emotions in public, yet there were tears in her eyes when she exclaimed, "Ah, my dear Fíriel, to think that on our next meeting, you might have become a mother!"

The princess was expected to bear Arvedui a son, and soon preferably, for it was part of her duties, like some sort of special mission. It was something Fíriel was well aware of and, truth was, she was herself looking forward the day she would hold a baby in her arms. Yet it had not dawned upon her it'd probably happen within the next year and, instinctively, she put a hand on her belly, wondering if a new life had already sparked in her.

"It's been almost three months, but I haven't quite processed everything that marriage encompasses," Fíriel admitted, as her mother hugged her tightly.

"It is quite the adventure," Queen Russiel told her, smiling, "yet I daresay this prince revealed himself to be a surprise, and an excellent one." And she added, in an undertone, "Let us pray he does not turn like his father as he ages."

"Oh, mother, I hope this is no foresight of yours," said Fíriel and she laughed a little, despite her sadness.

As she was about to become a mother herself – whether it happened in next months or in the next years –, she would have given anything to have hers nearby, for comfort and good counsel.

"Worry not, I never was one to have visions."

The Queen kissed her daughter on the forehead, and on both cheeks, and then she proceeded to fuss with her clothes, adjusting ribbons and laces, just as she used to do when Fíriel was a child. In the end, it was Artamir who came and gently reminded his mother they were about to depart and that he and Faramir had yet to say goodbye to their sister. They had spent almost half a year in Arthedain and it had been easy for Fíriel to forget they'd have to go, one day. Faramir, who was quite demonstrative at times, held his sister in his arms, ruffling her hair as if no one around could see them, and he promised he would be back as soon as he could.

"I'm only the second son, they have no real use for me in Gondor," he told her, grinning as he finally let her go.

"Neither do they need you here," Artamir retorted.

The siblings laughed one last time together and then the Gondorian delegation started to move – within minutes they all had passed the great gates of Fornost, treading on the north-south road. It was not long before there was nothing more to look at and Fíriel knew it was time for her to go back to the King's halls, to this place that was her home now.

"I will miss your brothers, they have become dear friends," Arvedui said, for he had stayed by her side, even though his father and the other lords had already scattered.

He knew what he felt could not be compared to Fíriel's sadness, but he had genuinely grown fond of Artamir and Faramir. The princes were perhaps among those few people who truly understood his struggles and he dearly wished next time they'd meet would be to celebrate again and not to fight enemies.

"Oh, you shall hear from them often from now on, for they have also become your brothers," the princess said, smiling.

Holding Arvedui's hand steadied her. In his presence, she had been able to face calmly the departure of her family and of the other Gondorians and she felt lucky. For the first time, it had crossed her mind it could have been worse to marry a man she loved not and remain in Gondor, than to spend her life in Arthedain, but with a man she loved.

* * *

 **Gondor T.A. 1940 October**

 _"_ _Might I have a word with you, lord Pelendur?"_

 _Queen Russiel had cornered the Steward, after the Great Council had been dismissed. The alliance with Arthedain had been at the heart of most of discussions, yet the Queen thought she should take care of a few issues on her own and she wanted to be sure the Steward heard her well on this._

 _"_ _Of course, your Highness."_

 _"_ _Perhaps my husband does not share my opinion on this, yet he has not met the man himself. And I should warn you about him, for I do no trust this king."_

 _"_ _You have me worried."_

 _"_ _King Araphant is insufferable, although his bad temper is the least of my concerns… As I said, I do not trust him, I daresay I have grown convinced he shan't come to our aid the day we summon him."_

 _"_ _Would he be so disloyal? Why would he have agreed to the alliance?"_

 _"_ _Truth is, he has little men to spare and this alliance serves him better than it serves us."_

 _"_ _Your Highness, I understand your concerns, but I think a formal alliance with the northerners was needed. Indeed, it is more profitable to Arthedain, however it reopens roads that have been too long closed and it also secures Gondor's position in Middle-earth."_

 _The Steward's views on the matter were strategic, for he had the firm belief that Gondor could overcome his enemies without any exterior help – anyhow, he could not conceive that any help sent by Arthedain would make a significant difference. Yet he could see how gaining new allies could be beneficial, if anything the Northerners would keep the With-King busy and that was a threat he wished would remain far from his kingdom._

 _"_ _It is right, but I fear his obsession for this old prophecy has long clouded his judgement…You should have heard him, lord Pelendur, he believes the Dúnedain are doomed." She lowered her voice. "He spoke like a madman, convinced that his realm will fall and that his son will be helpless…"_

 _"_ _Could it be that your Highness is preoccupied by the well-being of the princess? I do hope King Araphant treats lady Fíriel as well as her rank commands it."_

 _"_ _Oh, she has been given everything she could wish for and however poorly I think of King Araphant, it seems highly unlikely he would ever threaten her… but I suppose I cannot help but worry about her. She is my only daughter, after all."_

 _When the possibility of a wedding between Arvedui and Fíriel had been discussed, lord Pelendur had opposed it, for he had believed that it would be conceding too much to the Northerners. Yet the King had been eager to seal the alliance and, obviously, to him it could not just be a military matter, for he was convinced the two royal lines had to be tied formally. The Council had agreed, so had the princess, and, in the end, the Steward had ceased to oppose to this decision, even though he had nurtured the idea that the princess would be married to his own son._

 _"_ _I do understand why we should not put too much trust in King Araphant, yet for now it seems useless to concern ourselves overly with him, does it not? So long as the princess is safe in Fornost."_

 _"_ _Indeed. You are my husband's most trusted adviser, lord Pelendur, thus do remember my words, for you too shall have to deal with the King of Arthedain when the time comes."_

 _"_ _I shall not disappoint you, your Highness."_

 _And Queen Russiel confided much of her thoughts to the Steward, for he was a reliable man and she knew his influence on the Council could help balance King Ondoher's sometimes idealistic views on the North. In fact, she talked so much about the father that she forgot the son. It seemed unimportant at the time, since she had nothing to complain about when it came to Arvedui – expect, perhaps, that he was a bit too stern-looking. Yet it gave lord Pelendur a false impression of the prince and in his mind father and son remained linked, as if he should beware of both. Even Artamir and Faramir's praises never quite erased this idea that Arvedui, like King Araphant, was not trustworthy. And he would indeed remember it, when time came._

* * *

Autumn was a gloomy season in Arthedain, or so it seemed to Fíriel. It rained often, and it was ever the same cold drizzle that seeped into clothes and bones, and mist lingered in vales and hollows all day long. The year before, the princess had loathed this dull weather, so different from what she was used to, and still she doubted she'd ever grow fond of muddy trails and mossy rocks. Yet her life in the north had gone through significant improvements that helped her overlook nature's melancholic displays and she could always take refuge in the greenhouses, where it never rained – she also was introduced to mushroom hunting and learned that humidity did truly have its upsides.

King Araphant usually claimed Arvedui for himself, sending him on all sorts of errands in Fornost and its surroundings, and it was as if he relished keeping apart the newlyweds. However, his power had its limits and he had to concede a few minor victories to his daughter-in-law. For one thing, Fíriel was finally invited to attend to the King's private council and not just vaguely allowed to be part of it, which meant she was actually notified in time to be present during reunions. The princess wondered if it was Artamir who had obtained this seat for her, for his negotiation skills were outstanding, or if, by any chance, the King of Arthedain had deemed her worthy of it on his own. Yet it soon appeared King Araphant had not changed his mind about her and was still convinced she should stick to the greenhouses – and nurseries, should she bear a child.

Fíriel was also formally granted permission to use the palantír as she pleased, although she was never left alone with it, which was no real inconvenience. Being in contact with her family, especially with her father, was something she needed and it was still difficult for her to process that she would spend the rest of her life away from them. It was during her visits in the tower where the stone was stored that she noticed King Araphant was often there himself. At first, she feared he meant to spy on her, yet she quickly realized he had uses of his own for the palantíri – most likely something related to the ongoing war against Angmar, she assumed.

Fíriel did not have to deal with the presence of her father-in-law much longer, for, in November, came the announcement of his and Arvedui's imminent departure for the north-eastern areas of the realm. Harsh wind was blowing up there and there were some movements in Angmar, for Orcs had been sighted east of the North Downs and there had already been a few skirmishes on the borders of Rhudaur. The princess did wish only the King would leave Fornost, but she knew her husband played a key part in the protection of the realm – it was part of the deal that he'd often be away.

And despite being ready to face such situations, she could hardly contain her emotion when Arvedui told her he would be absent for at least three months. Inviting her in his study, he had meant to explain to her where he would go and what he would do, so she would understand what he and his father were up to, yet he quickly discarded his maps when he saw tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Fíriel, are you crying?"

"No…" she said, although it denial was quite useless. "A little, perhaps, but it is not important."

Truth be told, Arvedui had never seen Fíriel weep before. There had been times when there had been traces of it on her face, especially during her first weeks in Fornost, yet not once had she openly cried in front of him – not even after her brothers and mother had been gone. For a few seconds, he felt helpless: on one hand, he was touched, almost flattered, that the mere idea of him leaving could cause her such a reaction, however he had also become worried.

"Will you be alright, while I am gone?" he inquired, hoping it did not sound too pretentious of him to wonder if she could do well without him.

"Of course, I will," she answered, wiping her tears as best as she could.

Her answer had been firm, but Arvedui's heart was filled with pity as he was reminded of how difficult last winter had been for Fíriel.

"It is my duty to defend the realm, I shall often be away for weeks, months…" he told her, taking her hands in his. "It is a cruel war that has been lasting hundreds of years, yet we have to keep fighting."

Shame made Fíriel wince. "I have stood on the walls of Minas Anor and watched my father and brothers leave for battle many times. I grew up in a city that faces Mordor and I have learned of the danger of the shadows long ago, when I was nothing but a young child… Thus, there is no reason I should be more afraid here than I was there."

"Indeed," said the prince, pressing a kiss on her temple. "Perhaps you do not yet feel home here, and that is why you are more distressed than you usually would be."

Arvedui was usually good at guessing what his soldiers felt, on the field, and he discovered he could put this skill to good use with his wife as well.

"I will toughen up, I promise." She wept no more, but she sought the comfort of his embrace.

"You are not alone, Fíriel," said Arvedui, stroking her hair. "My mother adores you, Meldis will always be by your side and even Cirion has gotten used to your presence in these halls and I daresay these three ought to keep you very busy. And once spring comes, we will travel together, we will visit Cardolan and Rhudaur, and Rivendell too."

That night, Fíriel did not get much rest, for she wanted to fully enjoy the warmth of her husband. It was strange, really, how she had so quickly gotten use to his presence, how she could barely imagine sleeping alone anymore. She thought Arvedui was right, she had not yet fully adapted to life in the north. Summer had chased away the gloominess of winter, her family had made her forget about her first difficult months in Fornost, but now that the sunny days were scarce and that her loved ones had returned to Gondor, she felt she was leaning on Arvedui more than ever.

He rose before dawn, but told the princess to remain in bed. There were some last-minute preparations that needed to be taken care of and he was to meet Fíriel when his departure would be imminent. It was a scenario he was familiar with, since wives usually came to see the soldiers when they left the city, yet he had not quite registered the fact that he had become the husband who would be sorely missed. Neither was he accustomed with the idea that someone other than his mother would be waiting for his return – he loved it, even though it grieved him a little to imagine Fíriel being pained because of him.

* * *

It was to the high gates of Fornost that Fíriel headed to bid Arvedui goodbye – and, officially, the King as well. Queen Gilwen had come with her and the princess tried to model her expression after her mother-in-law's. The Queen had lived through many short-lived victories, and even more sorrowful defeats, and she had learned to send away her husband and her son as peacefully as she could. And Fíriel reminded herself of the words the Queen had told her, before they had left the palace.

"Arvedui is a grown man. He is powerful warrior and a leader his soldiers would follow throughout the dark lands of Angmar if he asked them to. They even say his skills are quite unparalleled when it comes to sword fighting and that he'd be a match to the Witch-king himself… I believe this last bit is pure bragging however. What I wish to tell you, my dear Fíriel, is that decades have passed since his coming of age, yet he still is my child and even now it is painful to watch him go away. But I have my part to play and I have to pretend it is nothing more than pride I feel when he leaves for battle."

Queen Gilwen excelled at her role, smiling and waving at the people who had gathered along the streets of the city to catch a glimpse of the royal family. She proved even better when she faced Arvedui, exchanging with him meaningless formalities, as she had done so often – only her eyes gave away some of the fear she had to lose her son to a terrible war.

After having bid his mother goodbye, the prince turned to Fíriel, who stood next to the Queen. She looked a bit tired, but she put on a brave face – she would never display any sign of weakness in front of King Araphant. Arvedui bent down to kiss her forehead, for they had agreed on a very simple parting. The princess, however, caught him by the arm and whispered a few words in his ears. Whatever she said, it had a great effect on Arvedui and a broad, genuine smile suddenly spread on his face, as his grey eyes gleamed with a brand-new light. For a few blissful seconds, they were alone, caught in a world that only belonged to them.

To everyone's surprise, Arvedui kissed her, deeply and perhaps a bit too passionately – he did mess up her hairdo. There was nothing proper about it and the Queen averted her eyes quickly while the King gaped, offended, but the captains and the soldiers were quite entertained and it took them a lot of self control not to smirk. This kiss would be become the object of many discussions around campfires, although the prince would never reveal to anyone what the princess had said.

Fíriel had not told him much, yet it had been enough to fill his heart with unpreceded joy.

She had uttered three little words, "I love you".

* * *

"It was quite a charming display of marital love you and your bride gave us to see earlier," said King Araphant, some hours after their departure, as they were heading towards Weather Hills.

"Would you complain that I am happily married?" sighed Arvedui, tired.

He and his father bickered constantly since their Gondorian guests had left heir halls and the prince was convinced this tension was related to his happy relationship with Fíriel. It had become obvious to anyone dwelling in the King's halls that Arvedui and Fíriel harbored romantic feelings for one another, even though the two of them of were usually discreet. And King Araphant did not look favourably on his son and daughter-in-law's lovely complicity.

"No, I am not as cruel as you please yourself to believe," the King said, although there was something scornful in his tone.

"You have allowed her take part in our councils and you have also granted her free access to the palantír, thus, should I not gather that you have reconsidered your impression of her?"

"Now that I have met her mother, I suppose I should be relieved Fíriel does not take too much after her and I must say I am surprised the princess displays genuine interest towards our affairs."

"What did you expect, father? She was born a princess and she was raised by a king, a powerful one, whether you like it or not. She has long been acquainted with councils and ruling matters."

The King shrugged, dismissive. "I won't be bothered with it long, as it is only a temporary situation. Once she is pregnant, shall she not have other preoccupations than the way I govern my realm? Raising a child is no light responsibility and, if I remember well, it is quite time-consuming."

Arvedui frowned and he struggled not to respond too harshly to his father's taunting. "What do you truly fear, father?"

King Araphant gave no reply, his lips pursed and the weight of many years of hardship weighing on his brow.

"You should stop peering into the palantír, father," said Arvedui and his voice had become soft. "The shadows of Angmar have crept into your mind and into your heart, and they are twisting your thoughts."

"One has to face the darkness to defeat it and I would rather rely solely on myself, for these Gondorians are bound to disappoint us," whispered the King and, once more, it was a strong sense of foreboding who made him pronounce such words.

His father was old, Arvedui suddenly realized. In a few years, he would probably not be able to ride with his soldiers anymore. He was haunted too, haunted by the Witch-king he spent hours spying on, using the Stone, and he was haunted by his own failures. Mere years after he had ascended the throne, he had lost the lands King Araval, Arvedui's grandfather, had managed to reconquer from Angmar, with the help of the Elves of Lindon and Rivendell. Perhaps that was why King Araphant prized so highly the friendship of the Elven folk, believing only they could truly help him. And, deep down, there had been the hope to honour his forefathers' deeds all by himself – the alliance with Gondor meant he had begun to admit defeat.


	13. A Short Sentence

I've finally tagged Arvedui and Fíriel for this story! The tags are all new :)

I think I went a little overboard with the snow and the cold, because I don't think winter in Fornost was so bad (probably something like the north of England/ south of Scotland). But, unlike Fíriel, I'm actually a big fan of winter and I also thought that from her point of view it probably feels much more cold than it actually is, since she is not used to it.

* * *

 **Chapter 13 - A Short Sentence  
**

This second winter came earlier than the first and it was harsh, or so Fíriel thought, for none of the Northerners ever complained about the weather – worse, some of them obviously enjoyed it. The princess was always cold, despite having managed to gather an impressive set of furs, and she worried she would never adjust to this terrible season. Far, so far away were the mimosas, oleanders and cypresses of Minas Anor, and slowly it sank in she truly had left Gondor and its gentle nature.

The snowy landscape certainly had its charms, yet it held her prisoner in Fornost and sometimes even the warmth of the greenhouses was not enough to distract her from the gloominess that seized her on cold nights. She'd stroll on the walls of the fortress, gazing at the horizon, and in moments like these she wished she could fight alongside Arvedui and his men. She wished she could escape from those halls and help defend the realm, much like she had dreamed doing when she had been in Minas Anor.

Fíriel did know how to hold a sword and she had learned the basics of swordfight when she was a child, back when she had not been aware she was different from her brothers, because she was a girl. Never had she been so bold as to wish to become a soldier or one of his father's captain, yet she despised being passive when others put their lives at stake to protect the kingdom. She had always been told she was needed to govern the city when men were away, however it sometimes felt like a punishment to have to wait for their return.

Like the year before, she took care of current affairs with the Queen, but there was not much to deal with, and though the well-being of the people was at the heart of her preoccupations, she longed to do more. Fíriel had understood Queen Gilwen had no ambitions of her own, she merely acted as an extension of her husband and rarely showed initiative. Yet the princess was dissatisfied with this choice and she wished she had the opportunity to discuss more with Arvedui, about her role in Fornost – there were many other things she wished she had discussed with him.

She missed him immensely and it happened that she wondered how she had ended up being so deeply attached to him. His smell had long vanished from their bed, as if he had never been there at all, and Fíriel realized she did not like to sleep alone anymore – how quickly things had changed. For the princess, love was still a mystery and she could not quite comprehend it fully, for it was new to her and it really had nothing to do with the few flirts she had had with young lords, back in Gondor. For the most part, it was a pleasant feeling, and the source of an endless joy, yet it was also painful, and Fíriel was also often troubled.

There was only one person she confided these feelings to and it was Meldis. Well, she did answer the Queen's nosy inquiries as truthfully as she could, and there had been a lot of it after that public kiss. Hopefully, her mother-in-law had been kind enough not to press her more on these matters, for she was quite content already, knowing her son had somehow managed to marry happily. But what she told Meldis was different, for with her friend she feared not to talk about the touchiest matters.

Since Fíriel was wedded, they met no more in her chambers and spent most of their time together in the greenhouses. A year had passed since they had decided they should be restored and their work, and that of the gardeners and botanists, finally seemed to pay off – although it would take another decade or so to reach its full potential. At least, all the fountains had been repaired and new benches had been made by carpenters, providing the ladies with comfy nooks where they sat and tried to forget about the snow.

"Now that winter has come, the halls of the King do seem empty, and scarce have become the occasions to dance and sing yet I always expect to find you surrounded with at least half a dozen of your suitors," said Fíriel and she was smiling as she looked at her friend.

They had meant to embroider handkerchiefs, but their needles and thread had quickly been put aside.

"Whenever I tell them you're about to join me, it somehow scares them away," retorted Meldis, giggling.

There were not that many young men pursuing Meldis, but there were a few serious candidates that loved to lurk into the greenhouses. Among them was, surprisingly, Chamberlain Cirion, although neither the princess nor her friend really knew what brought him in there. He did not seem to be the type to chase after young maidens, for, on the contrary, he often was the one been chased.

"The fearsome princess, they shall call me one day."

"At least, they no longer believe you to be haughty and cold."

"Indeed… Although I do think they will always consider me to be a bit odd, I am a Southerner after all," Fíriel said and she was aware that some her habits would always been called 'quirks' by the Dúnedain of the north.

"Do you sometimes wish you would have never come here at all?"

"It'd be a lie to say I never questioned my decision to leave Gondor, but, as time passes by, I have fewer and fewer reasons to regret it."

"Your Gondorian fellows were quite handsome, and quite gallant too, but for none of these young men would I leave my home and family," said Meldis, pouting, but then she quickly added, "of course, I am no princess and I know nothing of the duties that behove you."

"Oh, I wouldn't want you to believe my life was exhausting in Minas Anor, for it was not, really. I did follow my father on his visits throughout Gondor, but I am afraid I was more interested in sightseeing than in whatever pleas our people wished to make. Of these royal duties, I only became aware recently and I must admit I did not fully understand what it encompassed when I decided to come here."

"Yet, having seen the men and women who traveled from the south, I can't help but wonder if our realm does not feel rather… petty to you. The partition of Arnor occurred centuries ago and it seems that, since then, not only our numbers have dwindled, but our culture as well."

"Why would you believe that?" asked Fíriel, frowning.

"I used to be impressed by your refinement, yet I thought it was normal for a princess to dress as fancy as you do, to be able to recite old lays or to tend to trees that were brought from Westernesse. But all the Gondorian lords and ladies were splendid, like you, whereas we… do we not lack greatness?"

Fíriel shook her head. "The people of Arthedain lack no greatness, if anything, the proximity of the Elven folk and of Annúminas has given you a more vivid experience of the past, as if old legends were still true in these lands... And it shan't be forgotten that the kings of Arthedain have the heirlooms of Elendil in safekeeping."

For a moment, Meldis stared intently at the princess, yet her expression changed fast and she broke into laughter.

"Look at you, dear Fíriel, so fiercely protecting our realm! You've almost become one of us, have you not?"

Fíriel chuckled. "Perhaps I will end up being an ambassador of Arthedain in Gondor, and not the opposite."

* * *

On one of the coldest days of December, as a snowstorm was raging over the North Downs, Fíriel was told she had received a message from Arvedui and she was quite surprised when Chamberlain Cirion came to deliver it to her. It was just a small piece of paper, yet her heart fluttered when she unfolded it, for she suddenly had this silly hope that her husband had written some sort of romantic declaration. She knew he was not one to elaborate long speeches, yet she thought it might be easier for him to express his feelings in a letter – perhaps being away, patrolling the frontiers, had awaken a more poetic side of him.

" _Dear Fíriel,_ _the cold is bitter here and a few trolls from the Ettenmoors have been troubling us recently. However, it is nothing we cannot handle and the soldiers' moral is good. I do hope you fare well in Fornost, - Arvedui."_

Three sentences. Three short sentences, and not a single word hinting at what she had told him, before he had left. She could not help but being disappointed, wondering why her husband had bothered to send her such a pointless message.

Chamberlain Cirion, on the other hand, was intrigued. "I am surprised the prince wrote you a letter," he said, as he tried to peer at the paper, not very subtly.

"I'm afraid it is generous to be qualifying it as a letter, for it is a mere note. A very brief one, about trolls and happy soldiers…"

"Arvedui might wield the sword with great power, yet he has little talent when it comes to word." The Chamberlain snorted, "Trolls are nothing to brag about when writing to your loved one."

"Well, I am glad to have received tidings from him, but I…"

"You were expecting a poem."

"No, of course not," said Fíriel, pursing her lips and glowering at the Chamberlain.

"Lady Fíriel, I have known Arvedui since we were both children, toddlers even. As absurd as it may sound, this boring note he wrote to you is the most romantic gesture he has ever done." Lord Cirion took some time to reflect on what he had said and he added, "Well, perhaps it is second to this kiss he gave you when you parted, in November. In any case, rest assured it is his own strange way of caring about you, for in all these years he never bothered once to send me or his mother any news from his patrols. We always had to make do with the official reports."

Fíriel blushed. "I suppose you are right…" She cleared her throat, regaining her composure. "Is there a possibility I could send back a reply?"

"Yes, my Lady."

And Fíriel wrote back to Arvedui, yet she was not as concise as he was and she ended up covering pages and pages with her writings, almost as if she was in charge of the realm's annals.

" _The Queen, lord Cirion and Meldis do keep me quite busy, although perhaps not in the way you had intended them to do. Winter is harsh here too, yet this year's harvest was good and granaries are full, and there have been few problems within the city or in the villages. It is thus completely different matters that have preoccupied me lately. For a few weeks already it has come to my attention that lord Cirion has seemingly taken a great liking to the greenhouses and the work I have done there. You can imagine my surprise to see him wander awkwardly through plants and trees, pretending to admire them … but as it happened, the Chamberlain has little interest for botany or for my company, even though we now esteem each other. I suspect it is Meldis that draws lord Cirion in the greenhouses, for he always lights up in her presence and his inquiries are always addressed to her. I am afraid his pursuit of her is vain, for she has no particular affection for him, yet I find it hard to be of good counsel to them both. I sometimes believe your mother would be much more capable of sorting out this situation and I believe it is nothing but a matter of time before she understands what is going on – and then surely she shall do her best to coax the Chamberlain into declaring his feelings to Meldis."_

Arvedui was amused to read what Fíriel had to say about life in Fornost, but moreover, he was happy the princess had responded to his message. He had been unsure as to what to write about, for being on the field was austere and the few events that disrupted their patrols were too bloody to be reported to a lady – especially one who would only worry about his safety. Regarding what he felt for Fíriel, he barely began to acknowledge it himself and thus he was unable to express it on paper. And he dearly wished to tell in person, when he would be ready.

His style did not improve over the weeks, but he did write a few lines now and then :

" _For the last month,_ _the sons of Lord Elrond have come riding with us. They have always been unevaluable allies to our kingdom and no men know these lands as well as they do."_

 _"The sky was clear today and we could see the line of the Misty Mountains up to Carn Dûm. Ever dark smoke rises from this wretched place, yet our enemies have been still for weeks."_

" _We have not sighted Orcs or Trolls during the last fortnight, the warmth of the Sun weakens them greatly. Would that they never appear again._ "

So Fíriel received these other notes, ever as short as the first one, but she collected them fondly and she waited for warmer days to come, continuing to chronicle her second winter in the north.

* * *

Spring came as it always did, and still Fíriel were unsure as to what to make of Chamberlain Cirion's newfound interest in Meldis. The princess was more and more likely to be convinced he was genuine, but her friend would not believe the Chamberlain could truly entertain any romantic feelings for her. He was a proud lord, close to the King, and Meldis thought he meant to ridicule her in some mean way. While most of the noble crowd now approved of Fíriel, some of them even seeking her favors, they did look down on the princess' friend, the little girl from Bree. And so Meldis had become wary of the lords claiming they had fallen for her charms, and especially of Chamberlain Cirion who pretended to care about her needlework and her freshly acquired knowledge of botany. However, all of that became quite secondary when Arvedui and his father returned to Fornost, at the beginning of March.

The King and the prince were welcomed in the vast courtyard of the King's halls and along the road that lead there, many bystanders stood to watch the troops march back into the city. Once more, Fíriel followed Queen Gilwen's lead and she tried to appear as calm and composed as she could, ignoring the turmoil that rose within her chest when she greeted her husband, rather formally. Arvedui looked worn out and his beard was scruffy. Fine lines ran deeper than usual on his face, as if the sharp cold had cut through his skin, and his hands were calloused and red from the frost. Even from afar Fíriel could see he had sustained a few minor injuries, for his cloak did not entirely conceal the bandage that was wrapped around his left shoulder. Yet his pale grey eyes shone ever brightly and he smiled when he stepped into the Great Hall, for he was glad to be back home.

That evening, the banquet seemed to last for an eternity and every time a new dish was served Fíriel's restlessness increased. She did sit next to Arvedui, on the dais, yet there was not much to do but to hold hands and smile at each other, for a whole assembly stared at them. There had been many talks about the two of them, during the last months, and a large number of lords and ladies had been speculating that Fíriel might be pregnant – it would have explained the goodbye kiss. These rumors had eventually died out, yet the return of the prince had once more sparked the hopes for an heir.

Fíriel had long stopped being preoccupied with the Northerners' expectations and she easily ignored their prying looks. Truth was, she was simply impatient to retreat to her chambers with Arvedui and there was nothing else on her mind but the wish to be alone with him.

"I would have liked to trim my beard before entering the city, but there was no time for it, I'm afraid," the prince told her, after they had been served generous portions of honey cake.

Wine and dessert had made everyone merry and it had also made their attention shift away from Arvedui and Fíriel.

"It suits you, I must admit. The scars, however, I see too many new ones," said the princess as she was closely inspecting one of her husband's hands.

"These are not scars, but mere scratches that will soon fade. Come summer and you won't remember they were there," Arvedui assured her, for he saw she was worried.

Fíriel was a little sceptical about that, but she remained silent. She knew the scars were part of the deal and that she had not only wedded a prince, but a warrior also. Perhaps she should have been used to this already, for she had often worried for the safety of her father and of her brothers, but the possibility of losing a loved one would always be her biggest fear.

"Your letters were very entertaining to read, I must say you have quite the knack when it comes to reporting the whereabouts of everyone dwelling in these halls."

"Was it not too trivial?" she wondered, still holding his left hand in hers. "I feared you might be bored by these anecdotes, since you were facing real dangers…"

"If anything should be called boring, then it is my own letters," he shrugged, as he was eating Fíriel's serving of cake, for he had already finished his own and his appetite was not as light as his wife's.

Fíriel chuckled. "Your style is laconic, to say the least."

"I've had little practice at… Well, I rarely write."

"The Chamberlain told me so."

"Did he?"

"He also told me I should be honored you took the time to write me a letter… Should I ask for more cake?" she inquired, when she realized he was done with both their portions.

"Oh, no… it's just that… food was not especially delicious during my time away."

"Then have some more," the princess said, hailing a servant.

"Truth is, I would rather have this dinner to end soon."

"Is something the matter?" Fíriel glanced at his shoulder, convinced that his wound was far worse than what he pretended and that he was suffering in silence.

"I merely wish to rest, _in our room_ ," he muttered in her ear.

Alas, it was not so easy to escape from the Great Hall and, as usual, King Araphant insisted to keep his son by his side till the very end of the banquet – at least Arvedui could eat honey cake to his heart's content. Husband and wife were both very sleepy when they finally went back to their chambers and they barely exchanged a few kisses before laying in bed and falling into a deep slumber. There were many things they wanted to tell each other, and many things they wanted to do together, but they knew they'd have plenty of time for that now that the beautiful days of spring and summer had come.

* * *

 **T.A. 1941 – Spring**

In April, Arvedui and Fíriel traveled to Cardolan and to Rhudaur, where they met the remnants of the Dúnedain, proud lords who ruled over devastated lands. At first, the presence of a Gondorian princess in the north had caused quite some stir in these realms and some had imagined that King Araphant meant to use his allies from the south to conquer the rebellious realms. Yet the wedding had cooled down most of Cardolan and Rhudaur's ardor, for they had seen the might of the Gondorians, and they proved to be rather courteous hosts, despite their crude manners.

After that, in May, they rode further east, to Rivendell – and there the welcome was much warmer. Fíriel, especially, was impressed by the vale, for never had she stepped in a territory so exclusively Elvish and many wonders did see and hear while staying there. Yet even the beauty of lord Elrond's homely home was briefly forgotten when Arvedui and Fíriel spent a few days by lake Evendim, at the end of the month of June, almost exactly a year after their wedding. The two of them had wished to go back to the ruins of Annúminas, with a small retinue, for it had become a special place to them both.

They stood on the lake's bank, somewhere near the spot of their first kiss – neither one of them could recall where precisely it had been, for their memory of this moment was but one happy blur. The water's smooth surface mirrored the stars, as if thousands of gems had fallen from the sky, and the majesty of this sight only added to the ethereal presence of the ruins. They felt they had stepped out of time and come to a place sheltered from the vicissitudes of Men's kingdoms, far from the woes of war.

Many thoughts crossed Arvedui's mind in that instant. As always, standing by the shimmering ruins of Annúminas, he could not help but wonder about his own fate, that of 'the last king', and whether fortune would favor the Dúnedain or not. Yet this old contemplation of his had changed lately, for he no more was alone and Fíriel's presence by his side, as well as the prospect of having children soon, made him keener to consider the prophecy's happy outcome – that he would become _the king of a great realm_.

However, these considerable matters quickly gave place to more personal ponderings. The moon, the stars and the lake inspired him, or perhaps he had finally found the will to overcome his own bashfulness. Wherever came from his impulse, he knew not, yet he turned towards Fíriel and took a few seconds to contemplate her.

Clad in white, her dresses flowing in the summer breeze, she was gazing at the water, probably counting the stars, and on her head was set a flower crown she had made herself. She was young, he realized, much younger than him, and not at all like the bride he had envisioned for himself – that lady from Cardolan he had almost been betrothed to had been stern-looking, like him. Fíriel, with her freckles and her shy laughter, had brought unforeseen happiness in his life and it was about time he let her know that.

There were many words that crossed his mind, and many beautiful sentences as well, and even a poem or two, yet…

"I love you, Fíriel," was all he said.

And it was enough, for it was exactly what Fíriel had been waiting to hear. His declaration was laconic, as were his letters, but he was sincere and the princess understood it had been difficult for him to express his feelings – a blush covered his cheeks and his beard was not enough to conceal it. Fíriel was slightly amused, thinking his timid attitude was very endearing, but most of all she was moved and there was not much she could do but fall into his arms.

Their embrace lasted long and when dawn came neither of them had had any sleep, yet weariness was the least of their concerns. They were happy together and it was all that mattered for a few days, by lake Evendim.

* * *

And it was a few weeks later that, upon entering their room, Arvedui was met by a frantic Fíriel who threw herself on him with such enthusiasm that he almost lost his balance. While he had nothing against enthusiastic welcomes, he did wonder what had triggered his wife's happiness and for a short moment he believed her brothers would be traveling north again.

Yet it was a far greater announcement that Fíriel made, when she was finally done covering him with kisses.

"I am pregnant, Arvedui! I… we… we will be parents!" she exclaimed, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

Upon hearing these words, Arvedui was filled with bliss, so much of it that he had become speechless, and in that instant, he truly thought he was not cursed, but blessed.


	14. A Great Disaster

**Celridel:** Thank you! I should say that without your kind reviews, I would feel alone writing this story haha so, really, thank you for the constant support :) **  
**

According to the genealogies, their son, Aranarth was born in T.A. 1938, but that is 2 years before his parents' wedding (canonically T.A. 1940), so some sort of mistake must have happened there and I've decided he would be born in T.A. 1942 instead.

* * *

 **Chapter 14 – A great disaster**

Being pregnant suited well Fíriel.

She did wish her mother would be by her side, more than ever, yet Queen Gilwen proved to be a useful ally and she knew how to make dozens of concoctions to prevent morning sicknesses and other inconveniences caused by the pregnancy. Meldis presence, as ever, was also comforting and the tales of her awkward encounters with Chamberlain Cirion were very entertaining, especially during those last weeks before the delivery, when the princess remained confided in her chambers most of the time.

At first, Arvedui watched his wife's pregnancy from afar, or so it felt, as the whole process left him quite mystified. The women, even the youngest, those who had yet to be wedded, seemed to have a better understanding of childbirth than he did and he sometimes wondered if he was simply not mean to unravel this mystery. However, Fíriel had quickly sensed her husband's puzzlement and thus she made sure to involve him in all things related to the baby – in a way, it was like Arvedui's efforts to include her in discussions regarding the realm's military affairs. The princess was subtle, but she suggested he should turn the rooms next to theirs into a nursery and also that he could start thinking about names. Of course, whenever the baby kicked, she put his hands on her belly – and this never ceased to amaze Arvedui.

Fíriel gave birth to their son on the first day of March, on the year 1942 of the third Age. It was a healthy boy, with grey eyes and surprisingly thick black hair – according to Queen Gilwen, Arvedui too had had such a tuft on his head when he had been born. The delivery had been smooth, yet those hours during which his wife had been in labor were very stressful for Arvedui, as he was not used to wait passively – however, for once there really was nothing he could do to help. Thus, when his mother and the healers finally gave him permission to see Fíriel and his son, he rushed into the room, frantic.

Sitting in their bed, Fíriel was feeling weary, but she could not rest, not when she was holding the sweetest little bundle in her arms. After having been fed copiously, the baby had fallen asleep, wrapped in a soft blanket, and Arvedui was in awe, certain there was nothing more wonderful in all Arda than his newborn son.

"The healers told me both of you were well," he said in a low voice, "yet I could not help but worry till I saw you with my own eyes."

He bent down to kiss Fíriel, his hand on her shoulder, and he would have almost congratulated her, for she had given him the most precious gift.

"Yes, everything has been just fine," Fíriel said, smiling as she gazed at her husband – she could easily guess it had been torture for him to be put aside for so long. "Would you like to hold him?"

"Can I…?"

Fíriel laughed softly, "You are his father, are you not?"

Arvedui sat on the bed, beside his wife, and he put his hands around his son, transferring him from Fíriel's arms to his. He did it so carefully, it was if he was holding a fine crystal vase that could break under the slightest pressure.

"He is so small…" he muttered, staying as still as he could, for fear he'd wake up the baby.

"It is hard to believe he will grow to be as tall as you are."

"Indeed…"

"Your father will be most relieved to know he has no freckles."

"Could it not appear later?"

"Probably," answered Fíriel, chuckling.

"I used to consider that having a child was just another one of my duties, for one day I am destined to become a king and thusly need to have a heir… Foolish, is it not?" He glanced at his wife, smiling fondly at her. "I suppose I did not understand what it is like to have a family…"

"Being a father makes you sentimental, it seems," Fíriel teased him, before putting a kiss on his cheek.

"It does make me consider a few things differently," admitted Arvedui.

"Me too…" whispered the princess, brushing her son's forehead with the tip of fingers.

Her home was now in the north, most definitely, for that was where her husband and her son would always be and they were her family, her own family. She'd still miss her parents and her brothers, now and then, but she knew a new life had begun for her and she loved it.

"In a few years from now, he will be old enough to travel to Gondor and I do not doubt your father and mother will be delighted to make his acquaintance," said Arvedui, having noticed a hint of melancholy in Fíriel's eyes. "As for his uncles, I hope they shall come back here soon."

"I hope so too…"

The princess yawned and leaned on her husband. Arvedui still dared not move, as he was holding his son, and it amused Fíriel greatly to see him being so conscientious – it was also highly endearing. Since she had come to know him better, some time before their wedding, she had never doubted he would make a good father to their children, for there was gentleness in his heart and generosity too. He did not have a happy childhood himself, yet he was ready to take care of their son with utter love and for that Fíriel felt immensely grateful.

The princess had long been sleeping when Arvedui finally put down their son in his crib, very slowly, very delicately. He found he felt exhausted, even though he had not been doing much, except worrying excessively – and apparently, that had drained all strength from him. When he laid down in bed, he took a few minutes to reflect on the day's events and, as he wrapped an arm around Fíriel, kissing her forehead, he wished already they'd have another child.

* * *

The birth of Arvedui and Fíriel's son was widely celebrated in Fornost and in the North, for there the prophecy had not been forgotten and the fear of seeing the royal line dwindled was real. Many merrymakings were thrown in honour of the young prince and garlands of flowers decorated the houses of Fornost for weeks during this spring. In Gondor, however, it was not considered a major event and it was only discussed among the nobility, as an interesting piece of gossip, but no more. Of course, within the royal household itself, the news caused great joy and the day was to be remembered, for Fíriel's son was King Ondoher's first grandchild.

Artamir and Faramir would have liked to travel north to meet their nephew, but Wainriders threatened the northeastern borders of the kingdom and the roads beyond Anórien were not safe. While the princes could wait, Queen Gilwen was greatly saddened not to be able to see her daughter and her grandson – oft during the past months she had deplored being sundered from Fíriel. The palantíri did help closing the distance between the north and the south, but it was far from being satisfying and the Queen feared the influence of King Araphant would have deplorable effects on both Fíriel and the baby.

Nothing of the sort happened, even though the name of the baby was at the center of a small controversy that, hopefully, did not last long. There was a well established naming tradition in Arthedain, since the ascent of King Argeleb I, yet Arvedui wondered if his son should bear a king's name – truth was, he wondered if his son would become a king at all. He meant to share these doubts with Fíriel, and her only, but when the princess told him there was no need to be pessimistic, not when there was still hope for the Dúnedain, they were overheard. Soon these words were reported to King Araphant who was prompt to lecture the new parents on the importance of ancestral customs, especially in these uncertain times.

"My grandson is born to be a king, as I was and as you were, Arvedui, and I daresay even if this realm should fall tomorrow, he should still be named like a king."

Pride filled these words, yet for once, Arvedui found he agreed with his father and so did Fíriel. In the end, it was decided their son would be named Aranarth, _noble king_ , and that being the grandson of two kings was quite enough to justify this name.

* * *

Arvedui and Fíriel had had similar upbringings, both having been born in royal households, yet their childhood had been quite different. Fíriel had been spoiled, being the youngest and the only girl, and rarely had she been denied anything – in fact, if it had not been for her reasonable nature, she might have become a very vain lady. Her family was loving and, despite their rank and their exceptional duties, her parents had always been present. As children, Artamir, Faramir and Fíriel had spent their time running around the Citadel, admiring the White Tree and playing pranks on guards. And on a few occasions, they had also been well-behaved and had followed their father on the streets of Minas Anor. And it was how the princess imagined her family would turn out to be.

Arvedui, on the other hand, had grown up as a lonely child. During his early years, his mother had tended to him in a tender manner, and she had done everything for him, even refusing to give him to a wet nurse, which was unusual for a lady of her rank. King Araphant, however, had only started showing interest in his son when he had been old enough to hold a sword and then he had forbidden his wife to spoil him any longer, for fear Arvedui would become too soft. He was severe, but that was how he thought it should be done, for his son's best interests. The King believed Arvedui's life would be paved with difficulties, more even than his forefathers', and giving him a harsh training had been his way of preparing him for the worst.

However, every time he gazed at Aranarth, Arvedui knew he would never himself be so hard on his son. He would probably never forget how tiny his son had once been, how fragile he had seemed to be as he held him in his arms. Truth was, he had seen very few babies in his life and, before the birth of Aranarth, never had he dared even touch one – children and what revolved around them had seemed to be exclusive to women. And he was under the impression that Fíriel was always more capable than he was when handling their son, even though she had no more experience than he did at parenting.

Yet little Aranarth loved to fall asleep in his father's arms and soon Arvedui gained some confidence at taking care of son. He sang lullabies, at times, and that was one of the many things he had never imagined he would do one day. And, last but not least, he had also completely shaved his beard after he had noticed it had caused Aranarth a small rash and this gesture was at the core of many discussions in the King's Halls. Those who had known Arvedui for years were surprised to discover this side of him. The prince rarely displayed his emotions in public, thus it was quite the spectacle to see him carry his son on his shoulders, laughing as the baby smiled and giggled.

During Aranarth's first winter, Arvedui seldom went away and, with Fíriel, he was there for his son's first smile, his first steps and his first word. Despite all this happiness he felt, there were times when he gazed at his son that his heart sank in, for he feared the words of the prophecy – if he were to be the last of his line, then what would happen to his heir, to Aranarth? How could the noble king succeed to the last king? But, in the end, there seemed be more hope than despair and, by his side, Fíriel was always smiling.

When Aranarth got a little older and was able to crawl around, Fíriel took him with her in the greenhouses every morning. Arvedui often followed his wife, sometimes holding their son himself, or, as he grew up, helping him toddle. Wife and husband had never actually told each other, for words were not always needed between the two of them, but they loved being parents and both were already dreaming of a bigger family. By then, everyone had also understood that the prince and his wife truly loved each other and their little family drew many curious stares, for it had been long years since the royal household had been so lively. It seemed the choice of marrying Arvedui to a Gondorian princess had proven to be wise and many started thinking that the alliance was not only beneficial to the soldiers.

These days seemed blessed, for even the attacks coming from Angmar had weakened and lessened, as if the enemy had lost some his strength. And for a few short years, even King Araphant was more absorbed by the growth of his grandson than by the shadows of the Witch-King.

* * *

 **T.A. 1944 – August**

Since the birth of Aranarth, many battles had been fought in the south, yet Gondor had always been triumphant, despite the growing numbers of its enemies. Wainriders had allied themselves with Haradrim and Men of Khand and they attacked the kingdom from both sides, north and south. Arvedui was impressed the Gondorians could face this double threat and the Southerners had not yet called for help, for they were mighty and lacked no great commanders. For the moment, the only real downside of this troubled situation was that travels between the north and the south had almost completely stopped as some areas had become dangerous. Not only was it inconvenient for the Dúnedain who had started to repair the road to retaliate it, but it had also prevented Fíriel from seeing her family for years. Moreover, she had dearly hoped to present her son to her father as soon as possible, but it would have been ill-advised to travel to Gondor with such a young child and never would she have taken such a risk.

The victories of the Gondorians against their enemies seemed promising and even King Araphant could not hide his admiration towards the feats of the Southerners – although deep down, he was convinced the Wainriders were a mild threat compared to the Witch-King. Arvedui's appreciation of the Gondorian army was more genuine and it happened that he wondered if his allies could defeat Angmar by themselves, provided they managed to vanquish their own enemies first. Something that, for Fíriel's sake, he wished would happen sooner than later. Thus, for different reasons, Arvedui and his father always had an ear out for news from Gondor and they were not especially surprised when one of the wardens of the Palantíri burst unannounced into the King's office, on a bright afternoon of the month of August.

Out of breath, the man took a moment to recollect himself and, bowing deeply, he said, "Your Highnesses, we received most grievous tidings from Gondor."

"The kingdom was attacked?" asked curtly King Araphant, frowning.

"It was indeed, for the Haradrim and the Wainriders have assaulted it in what seems to have been a concerted effort… Their general was victorious in the south, yet in the east, alas… Your Highness, a great disaster occurred in Morannon…"

Arvedui braced himself for the worst as his father pronounced these words:

"Was King Ondoher slain?"

The warden nodded, gravely, and he whispered, "He was, and his sons too."

"The princes?" gasped Arvedui, appalled.

"Yes, I'm afraid both lord Artamir and lord Faramir have died."

Arvedui fell back on his seat, too shocked to speak. Beside him, his father was shaking his head in disbelief, heaving a sigh.

"Who rules the kingdom, then? King Ondoher had a nephew, did he not?"

"His sister-son fell on the battlefield as well… Their army was utterly defeated in the north-east, the Gondorians said it was a slaughter…"

Though stunned by these awful tidings, King Araphant remained pragmatic. "Have they asked for reinforcements?"

"No, the general who was victorious in the south was quick to move to Morannon, and their enemies were caught unaware as they were celebrating the massacre they just had committed."

"It is a relief to know the King and the princes were avenged."

King Araphant reached for his cabinet, drawing a bottle from it. For all the disdain he had expressed about the alliance, he surely had never wished such a catastrophe would befall Gondor and the mere word 'disaster' triggered his darkest thoughts. Gloomy as his mind could be, the King was inclined to believe his line would be struck next.

The warden glanced at Arvedui, while his father poured himself a glass of liquor. "What about the princess, your Highness? How shall she be told…?"

"I will tell her myself," replied the prince, sharply.

"Of course."

"Go back to your tower, Warden, the Gondorians might try to contact us again…" ordered King Araphant. "I shall join you myself later this afternoon."

And once he and Arvedui were alone, he added, in a low voice,"Go find your wife, son. It may be hard, yet she has to know."

The prince remained silent, his heart heavy, as he was staring at the detailed report the warden had handed him – it was just a long list of atrocities.

* * *

Fíriel was in their son's room, with Queen Gilwen and Meldis, and the three of them were having a cup of tea while Aranarth was taking a nap.

"He fell asleep a few minutes ago," she told Arvedui, assuming he had come to see their child. "He was a little tired from this morning's walk around the gardens."

Arvedui glanced at his son, laying on his bed, arms and legs widespread, and for a moment he thought he would be unable to speak to his wife. He hated to have to disturb this peaceful afternoon with the worst news he could possibly have to announce to her. He hated that, in a few minutes, everything would have changed, that she would have lost a precious part of herself, that she would no longer smile… Yet she had to know.

"I need to have a word with you, Fíriel," he said, stiffly.

"Of course, what is it?"

"I wish to speak to you alone." He gestured at the door leading to their rooms.

Fíriel followed him, humming one of their son's favorite song, and her merry mood made Arvedui feel even more miserable than he already did – cursed those bloody Wainriders.

"Fíriel, my beloved Fíriel, there is something I have to tell you," he said, taking her hands in his.

It was this word, _beloved_ , that worried the princess, for her husband had used it on very few occasions, all of them being quite solemn.

"Has something happened in Gondor?" she inquired, tensed.

He nodded. "There was an attack… Well, there were two attacks, one in the south, one in the northeast. Your father rode against the Wainriders through Ithilien and fought them in Morannon…"

"And he died…?" Fíriel bit her lip, tears gathering at the corner of her eyes.

It was something she had been prepared to hear, one day, or so she thought – the pain, however, was by no mean lessened by the anticipation.

"Yes, he was slain…" Arvedui took a short pause, sighing. "So were Artamir and Faramir…"

"What…?" Fíriel exclaimed, her eyes widening in horror. "That can't be… Artamir would have fought with Father, yet Faramir… they would have never allowed him to come with them!"

"Indeed, he should have stayed in Minas Anor, yet he went in disguise and fought with the Northmen," explained the prince, in a sad, low voice.

"That can't be…" repeated Fíriel, grief-stricken. "They can't all be dead…"

She collapsed in her husband's arms, weeping heavily, and she clutched desperately on his clothes, trying to process the notion that her family had been wrecked so cruelly.

"Fíriel, I am so sorry…" Arvedui muttered, loathing himself for being unable to find better words to tell her.

He knew there was nothing he could do to comfort her, thus he held her tightly, eyes closed – physical proximity was all he had to offer for the time being. Arvedui felt sad himself, distressed even, for he loved dearly Fíriel and he could not bear to see her suffer so immensely. Her family had been tight-knit and it had been a sacrifice for her to leave them behind, to leave her home and come to the north, yet there had always been the hope that she could return there from time to time to see them. It was an important part of her life, and even of herself, that had just been shattered into pieces, on a foul battlefield.

"I am sorry," repeated Arvedui, kissing her brow. "My love, I am so sorry…"

He was teary eyed, for the death of Artamir and Faramir grieved him as well. He had lost friends, noble princes who had made him believed the future of the Dúnedain was not so dark, and it had also crossed his mind the alliance had perhaps perished with King Ondoher and his sons. Yet now was no time for politics, or even for his own sorrow, and what preoccupied him most was his wife, his poor Fíriel whose cries seemed never-ending.

When, at last, she stopped sobbing and fell silent, all strength had left her and she barely could stand on her own. Arvedui still held her and his arms were clenched around her so tightly that he thought it would leave marks on her skin.

"Who rules Gondor, then? Is it my cousin, Minohtar?" Fíriel inquired, in a weak voice.

Her eyes were puffy and red, and she looked haggard, as if in the middle of a nightmare.

Arvedui cleared his voice and murmured "No, he died on the battlefield."

"Minohtar too? Is anyone still alive…?"

"Fíriel, you are the only surviving heir of the throne of Gondor. Or, to be precise, there is you… and there is Aranarth."


	15. An Unpreceded Claim

**Guest:** it is sad, I'm afraid it was not exactly a good period for the Dúnedain.

* * *

 **Chapter 15 – An Unpreceded Claim**

Arvedui had barely gotten any sleep during the night and he had spent long hours pacing around his chambers and those of his son. Sometimes he would sit beside Aranarth, watching him sleep peacefully, stroking his silky black hair with tenderness, and then he would go back to Fíriel whose rest was far less serene. She was having nightmares and she woke up on a few occasions, whimpering like a child, and it took her long minutes to realize where she was and what was happening. Arvedui did his best to soothe her, yet whenever she would remember her father and brothers had died, she'd heave a sigh, a terrible sigh, as if she was too weary to live.

When dawn came, he was sitting on Aranarth's bed, waiting for his son to wake up. That morning, the little one was worried, Arvedui could see it in his grey eyes.

"Mother?" he asked, looking behind his father, searching for Fíriel like he had done the night before.

"Mother is feeling a tad sick today, she sleeps for now", said Arvedui bending down to pick up his son and put a kiss on his cheek.

"Sick?" repeated Aranarth and he was staring at the door leading to his parents' chambers.

"Yes, but it will be alright and we will see her this afternoon."

Aranarth nodded slowly and let himself being cuddled by his father – it quickly lead to a tickling fight that was eventually interrupted by the entrance of Queen Gilwen and Meldis. They had spent most of the evening taking care of Aranarth and they knew they would be needed again, for neither the child nor Fíriel could be left alone.

"The Council will meet within the hour and it should be a very long reunion," said Arvedui in tone he wanted to be casual. "In any case, I will come back right after its end, to check upon them both."

"I will take care of Aranarth and Meldis shall stay with Fíriel," Queen Gilwen assured him.

She looked tired, so did Meldis, but they were smiling as Aranarth welcomed them happily.

"Then I will be going, there is much I need to explain to the lords of the Council."

* * *

"Thus, the princess is the sole surviving heir of the Gondorian throne?"

"Not exactly, prince Aranarth is, in theory, the one who should succeed to the late King Ondoher."

"Yet as long as he is not of age, it would indeed be princess Fíriel who would act as ruling Queen of Gondor."

"Would the Gondorians truly accept her claim?"

"Why should they not? Have they got any other options?"

"There are a few lords descending from cadet branches of the royal family, yet none of them could pretend being more legitimate than a direct heir, even if…" Chamberlain Cirion's voice trailed and he cleared his throat.

Silence fell and none of the members of the Council dared say aloud what they all were thinking – that if Fíriel became Queen of Gondor, then Arvedui would be her king consort, before even being king of Arthedain, and their son would inherit not one, but two kingdoms. The prince had uttered very few words since he had arrived and he seemed to be in such a terrible mood that even Chamberlain Cirion avoided talking to him directly. Yet he was the one they were all looking up to, for he was closely concerned by the situation and the Gondorian crisis could have a real impact on his life, far beyond the personal pain it caused him.

"A formal claim shall be made to the Gondorians, in due time," finally declared the prince. "And while I do believe Fíriel can come up with some strong arguments asserting her legitimacy, I fear that her marriage to me, a future king of Arthedain, might be perceived as a considerable inconvenience by the lords of Gondor."

Arvedui had had little time to think through this exceptional situation, for Fíriel's grief was too overwhelming, yet he knew the alliance was fragile and that the death of King Ondoher and his sons could put a huge strain on the relations between the north and the south.

"I am not sure I agree with you, Your Highness, for Gondor has never been ruled by a woman and that is perhaps what shall be the greatest obstacle the princess will have to face," said one of the lords, an old man who was a long-time friend of King Araphant. "In these uncertain times, the Gondorians might prefer to elect one of their generals, a man of lesser rank but higher strength."

"It should be noted that the Númenórean laws are in favor of the princess, for there were three ruling Queens in Westernesse," pointed out Chamberlain Cirion. "And what of Queen Russiel? Could she not help the princess' cause, as I believe she has a great deal of influence on the High Council?"

"Lord Pelendur said Queen Russiel has fallen ill upon hearing that a husband and her sons had been slain on the battlefield," answered Arvedui sternly. "It might be weeks, months even, before she recovers…"

"Arvedui, why would you not make the claim yourself?" inquired King Araphant who had not spoken so far.

"I doubt the mere suggestion of me inheriting the Gondorian crown would please the southern lords. To most of them, we are a faraway people." _And a petty folk, probably_ , but the prince kept that to himself.

"You are a capable warrior, a descendant of Elendil and you have wedded a princess of Gondor, I daresay you seem worthy of this crown," the King insisted.

"Such a thing has never been done before… And, as I said, it is unlikely the lords of Gondor will want to see a foreign prince rule their realm." He saw his father was about to protest and he added, in a sharp tone, "This is how they perceive me, whether you like it or not, Father. Besides, it is Fíriel's birthright to inherit the crown."

"You would settle with being her king consort, then? You would follow her to Minas Anor and bow to her?"

"I would. And shall I not myself become King of Arthedain?"

"Perhaps the Gondorians might be slightly displeased to have a Dúnedain of the north succeed to King Ondoher, yet shall it not be even more difficult to have them accept to be ruled by a woman, even if she is one of them?"

"There were ruling Queens in Númenor, Father."

"In Númenor, not in Gondor," said King Araphant, stubborn.

"The island might have fallen, yet its laws still apply in the kingdoms founded by Elendil and his sons," declared Chamberlain Cirion who, although he wished not to partake in the debate between the King and the prince, was always a little uptight when it came to laws, regulations and rules in general.

"Thus, you do believe, Chamberlain, that the people of Gondor will want a woman to command their armies as they face nefarious threats," King Araphant retorted sharply. "Letting Fíriel claim the throne will only lead to the Gondorians choosing one of their generals to rule them, yet if you, Arvedui, were to be chosen by the High Council, you would lead their soldiers and ours."

"This crown is hers, not mine, Father."

"I never wished for a disaster like this to happen, yet it would be foolish of us not to seize a golden opportunity like this one. Remember the words of the prophecy, Arvedui, for it said _your son will change his name and become king of a great realm._ What greater realm is there than that of Gondor and Arnor reunited under your rule? It might be our only chance to thwart this cursed prophecy!"

"Do tell me, Father, what does it matter if Fíriel claims the throne and not me? In the end, we shall rule together, till our son inherits both kingdoms."

"I do not trust her," spat the King.

Arvedui shrugged and he hissed, coldly, "You lust for their power, Father, and you think you can have it through me, whereas you fear Fíriel will quickly forget about the north and the Witch-King, do you not?"

"Exactly! Then I shall speak to the Gondorians, for I am still king of Arthedain after all!" he exclaimed, hitting the table with his fist, startling all the lords.

"Father, I beg of you not to act rashly," said Arvedui, coolly, as he was unimpressed by his father's fit of temper. "Today, we mourn the dead, the rest can wait and no claim shall be made until Fíriel has recovered from the shock."

"Don't you think I do not grieve them! A King and his sons, descendants of Anárion, descendants of Elendil, like us… It is a tragedy for all the Dúnedain. Yet perhaps the tables have turned for us, perhaps we could save both Arthedain and Gondor."

"I can only agree with you on this, Father, and this can be achieved with Fíriel becoming Queen of Gondor."

And there was such harshness in Arvedui's voice that, for a moment, King Araphant recoiled. However, he was not ready to let go of his idea of having his son seized the throne of Gondor and he meant to rally as many lords as he could on his side, for he knew he was not the only one thinking Fíriel's claim would be quite ridiculous.

"Well then, let us dismiss this council for today and let us meet again when you will have come back to your senses, dear son," said King Araphant, gazing at the prince with defiance.

Arvedui's jaw clenched, yet he said nothing and quietly left the room – he was far more preoccupied by his wife and his son than by his greedy father.

* * *

"How is she?"

"Not well, I'm afraid, but the poor creature cannot be blamed…" Queen Gilwen told the prince, in a whisper, for Aranarth was taking his afternoon nap right next to them. "What awful calamity has struck her! And to think that her poor mother is in Minas Anor, grieving alone…"

"I wish those lords would understand what a shock it is for her, then they would perhaps put aside their ludicrous requests… It seems even the Steward of Gondor fails to comprehend the princess is in no condition to discuss the succession of the throne."

However, in front of his mother, Arvedui refrained from complaining about his father who already saw himself at the head of new dynasty that would rule over the north and the south.

"It is dangerous for a kingdom facing so many threats to remain without a king too long."

"Of course, yet they could give her a few more days to rest," sighed Arvedui, exasperated. "She's just lost almost all her family!"

Queen Gilwen put a hand on his son's face, caressing his cheek gently, as if he was still a child – it had been years, decades, since she had been so openly tender with him.

"Arvedui, my dear son, do not burden yourself overly. Neither the Gondorians nor the lords of Fornost will dare make any real decisions so fast, they will respect Fíriel's grief."

"I do hope so."

"Now go see her, I'll keep an eye on the little one," said the Queen, smiling.

To say that Queen Gilwen loved to be a grandmother was an understatement, for, with Aranarth, she was reliving the best days of her life, when Arvedui had been young, and even in terrible times like these, she was glad to take care of her grandson.

Glancing at Aranarth, Arvedui did as his mother suggested and headed to his rooms, where he found Fíriel sitting in an armchair near the hearth. Meldis was by her side, pouring tea in a large cup, as she was telling stories to distract her friend – it was not really working and Fíriel was simply staring at some flowers adorning the chimney's mantle.

"Meldis, would you mind if I had a moment alone with her?" Arvedui asked, approaching his wife.

"No, of course not, I shall go join the Queen," Meldis replied and giving the princess' hand a quick squeeze, she left.

"I imagine a great council was held today," Fíriel whispered, rising from her seat.

Her legs were weak, but Arvedui caught her, his arms sliding around her waist, and she buried her face against his chest, seeking warmth and comfort.

"Yes…"

"They want me to claim the throne, do they not?"

"I'd rather say some expect you to make the claim, while some have already presumed I should do it on your behalf… Yet there really is no need for you to concern yourself with this as of now. It can wait."

Silence fell and Fíriel let him kiss her, slowly and deeply. Despite having slept for most of the day, she felt tired, completely devoid of strength, and Arvedui's kisses were a welcome solace in the midst of her sorrow.

"It'll never be the same, never…" she muttered, "but hopefully there is you and there is Aranarth."

Arvedui hesitated, then he said, "Speaking of Aranarth, it would do him good to see you."

"What have you told him?"

"That you were sick."

Fíriel sighed. She did not really want her son to see in such a miserable state – she had not dared look at herself in a mirror, but she imagined it'd be quite a dreadful sight. At the same time, she could not keep him away very long, it was breaking her heart already.

"I'm afraid I will scare him…" she admitted sheepishly. "Whenever something reminds me of them, I… I can hardly hold back my tears…"

"I understand, yet perhaps it would also do you good to see him."

"You are right…"

Arvedui kissed her once more and, his forehead resting against hers, he whispered, "Fíriel, so far I have assumed that– "

"I will claim it… For my father's sake, for my brothers… I will claim it," she said in a strangled voice, suppressing a sob. "It never crossed my mind that it would one day befall me to rule the kingdom…"

"I shall stand by your side," promised Arvedui.

* * *

 **Minas Anor (Gondor)**

"I suppose the princess shall soon join the discussions regarding the succession of King Ondoher, shall she not?"

"That would be quite legitimate of her to wish to monitor the situation as closely as she can, despite the distance that lays between our realm and Arthedain."

"Let us not forget she has a child of her own, a son," said the Prince of Belfalas.

"He is but a young toddler, he is barely two years old..."

"He is the grandson of our late King, nonetheless," retorted the Prince.

"The son of princess Fíriel we would welcome with arms wide, yet he is also the son of prince Arvedui," said a lord of Lossarnach and he was expressing the concerns of many who sat at the High Council's table.

"The child already has a kingdom of his own, indeed, yet it might be an opportunity to reunite the kingdoms of the Dúnedain."

"The relations between our realms have barely been restored and you would already surrender our crown to the North, Prince?" One proud lord from Osgiliath said, snorting. "Our envoys have said that Arthedain pales in comparison to Gondor, that it is but the remnants of a great kingdom… How could one of them rule our realm?"

"Shall I remind you, my Lord, that the princess is Gondorian and that her son descends not only from Isildur, but also from Anárion? This lineage ought to be taken seriously," said the Prince and he turned to the Steward. "What other choices do we have, lord Pelendur?"

"There are several options we should examine thoroughly before we are to make a final decision, for the princess does dwell faraway and the royal house has cadet branches that shall not be too quickly dismissed by our Council."

It was too early for the Steward to clearly express what was on his mind, but in due time he knew his proposition would prevail over any other.

"As long as we have not heard from the princess, I see no reason we should discuss this matter seriously," declared the Prince of Belfalas. "After all, she is the only remaining child of King Ondoher."

"Indeed, let us wait for the princess first," lord Pelendur said and he rose from his seat, putting an end to this short reunion.

* * *

 **Fornost (Arthedain)**

It took seven days for Fíriel to muster the courage to leave her rooms and face the royal council of Arthedain – the first step to her claim of the Gondorian throne. She still felt sluggish, for her sorrow had rendered her limbs numb, yet she was determined to resume her duty as princess of Arthedain and, most importantly, of Gondor. The first shock had passed and she had realized she could no more afford to let herself be overwhelmed by mourning. Her father and her brothers were gone, and this was truly horrible, however she was now next-in-line to inherit the crown and as absurd as this situation might be, she could not let down her family, nor the people of Gondor. And as painful as it might be, she had to try living again, for her own sake, for those who were gone and for those who remained. She knew that Arvedui, although seemingly calm, was distressed and that the smiles and the soft words of Queen Gilwen and Meldis concealed concern and sadness. And there was Aranarth, poor little Aranarth who did not understand why his mother was acting so strangely – he had sensed this sickness was not ordinary.

Thus, the morning before she headed to the council, she went to her son's room before sunrise, and there she watched over him till he woke up. Upon opening his eyes and seeing his mother, the child was delighted and he nestled himself against her as she laid down on his bed, beside him.

"Mother…" the child muttered, smiling as Fíriel gently caressed his hair.

"I am sorry, dearest, I haven't been myself lately… Yet it is over, I will walk again, eat again, smile again…"

It was strange, how much comfort she got from her son's presence – strange, yet so unexpectedly pleasant. There was one person in Arda who truly relied on her, who needed her, and it gave her immense courage to hold Aranarth in her arms.

"There I find you!" exclaimed Arvedui, entering Aranarth's room. "I must say I was startled not to find you by my side when I woke up."

The prince may have kept his usual calm demeanor, yet he was truly relieved to see Fíriel with their son.

"I missed him."

"And he missed you," said Arvedui, crouching by the bed to put a kiss on his son's head – safe in his mother's embrace, the child had gone back to sleep.

"I will announce my decision to the council today… and to lord Pelendur as well."

"And I shall fully support you," he told her, taking one of her hand in his. "I believe the lords of Fornost can be persuaded to let you handle the situation, yet I know not how the Gondorians will welcome your claim."

Arvedui had had the distinct impression that the Steward had always carefully avoided speaking of the possibility that Fíriel might inherit the crown, but perhaps lord Pelendur wished not to discuss these matters with anyone but the princess herself.

"It is an unpreceded crisis and I do not expect the High Council of Gondor to make a rash choice. It will perhaps take weeks, months even, before the matter is settled, but I fear not lengthy deliberations."

"You might have to travel to Minas Anor soon."

"I am prepared to do it," said Fíriel, firmly.

Arvedui nodded, "Then we shall speak to the lords of Arthedain this morning, and to the Steward of Gondor this afternoon."

"Alright," Fíriel agreed and she tightened her embrace around her son – perhaps she needed a little more strength.

* * *

Despite a few lords being reluctant to let Fíriel make her claim, the royal council of Arthedain gave the princess its blessing to proceed with the negotiations with the Gondorians. It came as no surprise that, once more, King Araphant opposed this decision, yet he granted permission to Fíriel to use the palantíri, on the condition that he and Arvedui would stand by her side when she would speak to the Steward of Gondor – he still thought a manly display of power would work in their favour.

And, as the princess had suspected, it was not long before she could reach lord Pelendur through the palantír, for the Steward was monitoring the Stone ever since the passing of King Ondoher and his sons.

 _"Lord Pelendur, do forgive me for having been silent for so long."_

 _"There is nothing to be forgiven, my Lady, the disaster came upon us so suddenly … And though I may be well aware that my sincere condolences shall do little to soothe your sorrow, lady Fíriel, do be assured that I too mourn deeply the loss of the King and the princes."_

 _"I know, lord Pelendur. You have served my father faithfully for decades and even in such dark times the people of Gondor stand strong, for they can rely on their steadfast steward."_

 _"You are too kind, my Lady, for I am merely doing my duty."_

 _"Has the High Council met? I presume there is much to be discussed."_

 _"We have met, yet we deemed wiser to wait for you to contact us, my Lady."_

 _"And I should thank you to be willing to hear my claim. My son and I are my father's only surviving heirs and, while it may seem unorthodox, it is not an unpreceded situation that a woman is crowned."_

 _"It is true, yet long are gone the peaceful days of Númenor, and our kingdom it at war against many new enemies. You Highness shall have to command armies and…"_ The Steward paused, looking at Arvedui and King Araphant. _"I shall convey your claim to High Council, my Lady."_

 _"Excellent. I stand ready to travel to Gondor at your notice, lord Pelendur, for I understand that my presence in Minas Anor is required for the High Council to make an informed decision."_

 _"Alright, my Lady. The High Council shall meet soon, however the deliberations may last for weeks… Of course, you shall be informed of any progress."_

 _"One more thing, lord Pelendur…"_

 _"Your Highness?"_

 _"Do tell my mother we shall be reunited soon."_

 _"Of course, my Lady."_

For Fíriel, it was just the beginning and her claim would only be official once she would do it in person, in the Citadel of Minas Anor. For lord Pelendur, however, things were perceived differently and he would perhaps not convey faithfully the princess' words to the High Council – not that he meant to betray the daughter of his late King, but he genuinely was convinced it would be for the best for Gondor to be ruled by another.

As he had used the palantír, the Steward had seen that the princess was holding the prince's hand, that she was glancing at him every now and then, as if asking for his permission. King Araphant had been there too, frowning all the time, and lord Pelendur was beware of him, for he remembered how Queen Russiel had warned him about the King of Arthedain – even the princes had implied that he was a difficult character. Thus, the Steward of Gondor formed the idea that princess Fíriel was subordinated to her husband and father-in-law, and that the words she had spoken were, in fact, theirs. He knew not the deep bond that Fíriel and Arvedui shared, nor that the prince only meant to support his wife, and that King Araphant, while being altogether hostile to her claim, had exercised no pressure on his daughter-in-law. Lord Pelendur thought that this was all just a well rehearsed play and that the northern prince, with the help of his father, was using his wife to gain the Gondorian throne.

* * *

I took some liberty with the real story here, since in the text it's Arvedui who claims the throne of Gondor for himself, invoking that he is married to Fíriel and is an heir of Elendil. But I'd rather have Arvedui not talking for his wife and let her have her own voice, and anyhow, according to Númenórean laws, she truly could become a ruling Queen since in the absence of male heirs, women could inherit the crown, just like in the UK. Also, I don't think I wrote them in a way that would make Fíriel the kind of person who let her husband manage her business!

The prince of Belfalas would be an ancestor of the princes of Dol Amroth (I actually picture him as being the grandfather of the 1st prince of Dol Amroth).


	16. A Stormy Debate

There is some genealogy involved here, but mostly it comes down to Gondor belonging to the heirs of Anárion (and his son Meneldir) and Arnor/Arthedain belonging to the heirs of Isildur. Also, Eärnil is distant cousin of Fíriel and thus a descendant of Anárion/Meneldir as well (but not on the direct line).

I must admit I had a hard time completing this chapter, I have rewritten the last part several times (it was clear in my mind but once I started writing it was just messy…)

* * *

 **Chapter 16 – A Stormy Debate**

 **T.A. 1944 – September**

It took days, weeks even, for the High Council of Gondor to debate over these matters of inheritance and for a long time the lords could hardly reach any agreement. Some, lead by the Prince of Belfalas, stated that there was no reason to deny the princess her birthright and that her crowning would bring closer the two realms of the Dúnedain – it was the only way, they thought, to bring down all their enemies. Others chose to follow the Steward, lord Pelendur, and they deemed Fíriel's claim was weakened by her proximity to the northerners and they also wished to elect a warrior-king, a man who would be able to protect the realm and command armies. And while they all had a rather good opinion of Fíriel, they did not believe a woman would have the power galvanize the troops and lead them to victory. Both sides argued for hours, yet in the end it was the Steward who imposed his views and it was also him who announced to the princess who the High Council had chosen to become the new ruler of Gondor.

 _"_ _The High Council has reached a consensus, Your Highness."_

'Consensus' was perhaps an overstatement. While most of the Gondorian lords had ended up siding with the Steward, there was a very vocal minority, lead by the Prince of Belfalas, that still strongly disagreed with lord Pelendur's choice and to this day the High Council's meetings remained tensed.

 _"_ _I was under the impression no decision would be taken before I had myself come to Minas Anor."_

She was extremely displeased, for she felt the Steward had mislead her into believing she would appear in front of the High Council before anything serious happened.

 _"_ _We are at war my lady, it is highly dangerous for the kingdom to remain without a ruler and thus we deemed it wiser to hasten our choice."_

 _"_ _And who has the High Council deemed worthy of wearing the crown of Gondor?"_

 _"_ _It is lord Eärnil, son of Siriondil and descendant of the twenty-eighth King of Gondor, Telumehtar, through his second son, Arciryas."_

Neither Fíriel, nor Arvedui – not even King Araphant, for that matter –, needed a lesson of genealogy, yet lord Pelendur thought it was important to establish clearly the legitimacy of lord Eärnil. After all, his right to be elected as king relied mostly on this tenuous connection to the royal family.

 _"_ _Lord Eärnil was chosen?"_

Of course, Fíriel knew lord Eärnil and she was not really surprised that his name had come up during the High Council meetings. He had been one of the prominent generals of her father and, barely a month ago, it was him who had avenged the death of King Ondoher and his sons after the disaster of Morannon.

 _"_ _Yes, my lady. Unfortunately, we had to decline your offer."_

Behind Fíriel, King Araphant scoffed. For a second, she feared he would interfere, but instead he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

 _"_ _What do you mean you had to decline my offer? You dare refuse to hand me my own father's crown, have you perhaps forgotten who I am, Steward? And if really it is inconceivable for you that a woman could rule Gondor, should you not at least appoint me regent till my son comes of age? Or do you also wish to deny your King's true heir his birthright?"_

 _"_ _Lady Fíriel, I am afraid that in these uncertain times, obliging your claim might –"_

 _"_ _My son and I did not beg you for a favor, Steward, we merely claimed what is ours by law. And what of my husband, is he not kingly enough to rule Gondor? Have you not considered him, a descendant of Elendil, if you sought a warrior?"_

 _"_ _Your husband cannot become our King. The throne of Gondor belongs to the heirs of Meneldir, for when Isildur traveled north, after the battle of Dagorlad, he relinquished it to his nephew."_

 _"_ _Then it belongs to my son and the High Council should appoint him a regent."_

Fíriel was gazing defiantly at the Stone and, despite the hundred of leagues that laid between them, lord Pelendur felt considerably less confident when he countered her once more – truth was, he had expected her to be less fierce, because of her mourning.

 _"_ _Lady Fíriel, royalty cannot be reckoned through women, it never was this way."_

 _"_ _Ah! Thus, this is the clever argument you came up with to strip my son and I of our rights, lord Pelendur! Do tell me, if my cousin Minothar had lived, would he have not, without a doubt, become King of Gondor? Being my father's sister-son would surely not have prevented him from inheriting the crown, would it?"_

 _"_ _Your Highness, the High Council had no time to lose debating over what could have happened if things had been different –"_

 _"_ _Has it been announced to the people that lord Eärnil would become King of Gondor?"_

 _"_ _Not yet –"_

 _"_ _Then I bid you to reconsider your choice, lord Pelendur. And in the meantime, do open some of these old books that are being kept in the Citadel so you can be remembered that there were Queens in Númenor and that the reason royalty never was reckoned through women in Gondor is because such a situation has never occurred before."_

The Steward sighed. He had not expected the princess to renounce gracefully to her claim, yet it was harder than he could have imagined – she knew very well there was no solid reason to deny her and her son the throne.

 _"_ _In the light of our present conversation, it seems I do need to call upon another meeting of the High Council, my Lady."_

 _"_ _Should I be ready to depart to Gondor?"_

 _"_ _Perhaps, my Lady."_

Truth was, lord Pelendur had absolutely no intention of giving the crown to the princess. Perhaps he would have considered it, had she still been dwelling in Gondor, but he was not especially keen on the idea of having a woman becoming a ruling Queen – even though the people had been very fond of King Ondoher and of his family and would have certainly acclaimed Fíriel. And there would always have been the possibility of her being wedded a fine Gondorian lord, perhaps the Prince of Belfalas, since lord Eärnil was already married.

However, the princess had been sent north and her husband was the future king of Arthedain – the idea of having a foreign prince so close to the Gondorian power was what made him truly reluctant to hand the crown to Fíriel. And he was mistrustful of Arvedui as much as of King Araphant.

* * *

"I was too arrogant, was I not?" Fíriel sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Impudent, even…"

"I knew not you could be so assertive, yet you were rightfully indignant," said Arvedui, eyebrows furrowed. "This Steward is astoundingly stubborn in his refusal of your claim and his arguments were quite weak."

His arms crossed on his chest, he was staring through the window of his study. The leaves of the trees in the gardens were slowly changing color and soon it would be time to harvest chestnuts with Aranarth, now that he could confidently waddle around. Yet this prospect gave Arvedui no joy and he pursed his lips, preoccupied.

"Arthedain is a faraway kingdom for them and its importance is quite relative compared to the might of Gondor," Fíriel said, letting herself fall in a seat. "And in their eyes, it seems I have become a northerner…"

"Perhaps…" muttered Arvedui, somberly.

"At least, he agreed to reconsider his decision and he will convey my arguments to the High Council. But I should have not been so idle, I should have at least contacted the Prince…"

"The prince?"

"The Prince of Belfalas, the lord of the westernmost parts of Gondor. Years ago, before our wedding, he was one of the most enthusiastic supporters of the alliance. Like my father, he thought it was crucial to the safeguard of both the kingdoms of the Dúnedain… And I can only assume he has been opposing the Steward, lately."

Arvedui's shoulders sagged a little and he resumed his contemplation of the gardens.

"You think the lords of the High Council will still follow the Steward, do you not?" Fíriel inquired, anxious.

"No… No, it is not…" he mumbled, unable to tell what was on his mind.

"What troubles you then?" Fíriel had risen from her seat and she stepped towards Arvedui wrapping her arm around his.

Her husband was silent for a while, collecting his thoughts, then he turned to her, his eyes full of sadness.

"I am sorry, Fíriel," he said, in a low voice, and that was the result of his ponderings.

"Why would you be sorry?" wondered the princess, blinking. "Arvedui, what is it, my love?"

"Had you wedded a Gondorian lord, they would have handed you the crown without further ado."

"It seems this way indeed," said Fíriel, taken aback. "Yet there is no need for you to apologize, for no one could have foreseen what has happened and surely you did not…"

"The Seer saw it."

"He did," she admitted, leaning her head against his arm. "However, do you believe this prophecy could have been fulfilled if we had not been married? If the Seer really did refer to this particular situation… How could the two kingdoms be united again, without us being married, without us having a son?"

It might have been just a way she had found to cope with the death of her father and her brothers, but Fíriel had the firm belief that the prophecy's good outcome could become real. It was in their power to make it happen, if only the High Council would accept her claim…

"But, Fíriel, would it have not been–"

"No, Arvedui," Fíriel interrupted him, shaking her head. "We have become husband and wife and I believe it was meant to be, for better or worse."

Arvedui finally detached his gaze from the gardens and he took a moment to consider his wife. Ever since the passing of King Ondoher and his sons, she always seemed so frail, so confuse that it had been surprising to witness how feisty she had been when speaking to lord Pelendur. But he was afraid this energy of hers would be wasted and that the Gondorian lords would never agree to hand her the crown – because of him.

"This wedding might cost you a kingdom, Fíriel…" he whispered, gently stroking her cheek.

"You do know that without you I would still be in bed, weeping and moping? I have lost my father and my brothers and my mother is ill, hundreds and hundreds of leagues from here…" She wiped a tear away as Arvedui put his arms around her. "But you and Aranarth, you are most precious to me, you are _my_ family, and I refuse to put the blame on you if the High Council rejects my claim."

Arvedui heaved a sigh. "It seems the Steward will only be delaying the announcement that lord Eärnil has been elected King of Gondor and whatever you say, he shall counter it, however clumsily he may do it."

"Then, we should leave for Gondor, before winter comes, we should appear in front of the High Council, together," said Fíriel, trying to sound hopeful. "Upon seeing you, upon hearing you, they will realize you are no threat to them."

"Should I really go…?"

Fíriel cupped his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. "What truly scares you, Arvedui?"

"I know not exactly, yet this terrible sense of foreboding will not leave me…" he whispered, his grey eyes set on hers, "and I wonder if I shall always be able to protect you and Aranarth, and Arthedain."

"The High Council will meet again," she told him, putting a light kiss on his lips. "There is a chance they accept my claim."

"Thus, we shall ride to Gondor?"

"It seems so."

* * *

 **Minas Anor**

"It was predictable lady Fíriel would not welcome the idea of lord Eärnil being elected king," said the Prince of Belfalas, once lord Pelendur had finished giving the High Council a detail account of his stormy discussion with the princess.

"She did counter us with strong arguments," admitted the Steward. "Royal heritage could indeed be passed down through women in such a case and while it is an unpreceded situation in Gondor, it has happened multiple times in Númenor that queens were crowned and that their sons perpetuated the line of Elros."

"Elendil himself, as well as all the lords of Andúnië, were descendants of Silmariën, daughter of Tar-Elendil," said a lord from Pelargir, who was rather reluctant at the idea of stripping Fíriel from her right to inherit the crown of Gondor. "It is through her our kings could claim their kinship to the first king of Númenor."

"It is true," lord Pelendur agreed. "However, the real issue has never been lady Fíriel herself."

"Indeed, she would rule alongside her husband, and what do we know about this prince?"

"Very little," the prince of Belfalas replied. "And that is why I am firmly convinced that it would be wise to invite to travel here, alongside the princess and their son, for it is the only way we could make a choice. As I have already said, in front of this council, I am afraid there is far more that our kingdom's fate at stake…"

"That prophecy is vague," said a lord from Osgiliath, dismissive.

"As all prophecies are," countered the prince. "And it is thus our responsibility, my lords, to discern the truth in these words."

"And what do you believe this prophecy tells us?"

"That a choice has indeed befallen us, after the passing of King Ondoher, his sons and his nephew."

"We needed no Seer to enlighten us about this."

"The Seer was not trying to warn us a choice would befall us, he was warning us about the consequences of our decision, for it could bring great grief to the Dúnedain. Or, as I should quote it, _much sorrow and many lives of men shall pass, until the Dúnedain arise and are united again._ "

The prophecy had barely been discussed by the High Council, so far, for it had been considered a northern matter and none of the lords was comfortable with the words of the Seer – they would rather ignore the fact that it had been addressed to all the Dúnedain.

An old lord, quite sceptic, frowned. "Thus, according to you _, the one that seems less hopeful_ , is Fíriel? Or her husband, prince Arvedui, as the prophecy points at him? Yet he would somehow save us, is that what we should believe? Pray, what kind of extraordinary powers does this young lad possess that lord Eärnil does not?"

"I know not, but Lord Artamir and lord Faramir have spoken very highly of him. And it would be unwise to ignore such a clear warning."

Silence fell around the table and even lord Pelendur took some time to reflect on what had just been said. While he did not agree with the Prince, he did take in consideration his opinion, for his line was one of the oldest in Númenor and it was Elendil himself who had gave his ancestor the title of prince. Thus, the Stewart was careful not to oppose directly the Prince – he merely needed to buy time.

"Perhaps, for now the solution would be to summon lord Arvedui here, in Minas Anor," said lord Pelendur.

"What should we say to lord Eärnil then? That a foreigner might become the next King of Gondor instead of him, a valiant general who avenged the death of King Ondoher and his sons?"

"No, but it seems only fair to hear both parties."

The Steward hoped lady Fíriel's claim would be rejected once and for all well before she and her husband reached Minas Anor, even though he doubted that, ultimately, Arvedui would be capable of wowing the High Council.

"It would uselessly delay the coronation of lord Eärnil. Can we afford such dithering?"

"There is no time to waste, indeed, and the princess should simply respect the decision we made, for only the High Council can elect a new King in times like these."

"My lords, should we meet again on the morrow and resume this discussion then?" proposed lord Pelendur. "I fear some unfortunate words might be pronounced, should we go on today."

After this intervention, the Council was quickly dismissed and the Steward was about to retire to his quarters when a lord from Ithilien, a close friend of lord Eärnil, came up to him – obviously he was not very happy that lord Pelendur had deliberately stalled the debates.

"Lord Pelendur, what are you hoping to accomplish?" The lord inquired. "I understand you wish not to offend the Prince of Belfalas and his followers, however there is no need to agree to their whimsical demands."

"It is not whimsical to wish to consider all our options."

"The majority of the council stands by your side, lord Pelendur. Our authority prevails, in such a situation, and the princess and her northerner friends, Dúnedain or not, they do not have the right to overstep Gondor's sovereignty."

"Let us be patient," said the Steward in a reassuring voice. "And with some chance, the day shall come soon when even our dear Prince of Belfalas will have to admit lord Eärnil should be handed the crown, for the good of our realm."

"Have you got a plan of your own, lord Pelendur?"

"I would not call it a plan, but I do have an intuition this issue will be resolved quickly."

"And how shall this happen?"

"I do recall Queen Russiel telling me how untrustworthy she thought King Araphant was. Upon her return from her sojourn in Arthedain, she warned me about him and his unstable character – a _madman_ , that is the exact word she used," lord Pelendur explained. "While at the time I thought the Queen was overreacting, a few exchanges with King Araphant through the palantír were enough to convince me she was not exaggerating."

"Well, lord Pelendur, does it not constitute an excellent reason we should reject lady Fíriel's claim? He is her father-in-law and it would be safe to assume he holds a great deal of influence on her."

"Oh, it is an excellent reason to discard the princess," said the Stewart, a smile spreading on his face. "However, it would not be prudent to attack him openly, for he is a King after all, and I want to be absolutely blameless."

"Thus, you intend on merely hoping King Araphant will manifest himself soon…?"

"I do… I can imagine the announcement I made to lady Fíriel would not have rejoiced him and, trust me, he shall not need me to bring discredit on him and on the princess. And the day King Araphant loses his temper, I will arrange for the Prince of Belfalas to witness this downfall."

* * *

I checked and the throne of Gondor was never passed down through a woman, but it is simply because such a situation never occurred. It happened a few times that the king's nephew inherited the crown, but through the king's younger brother only. The case of Fíriel was truly unpreceded and I believe the Steward, lord Pelendur, did some intellectual gymnastics to counter Arvedui's arguments because what he says seems to be tailored just to prevent Arvedui and Fíriel (and their son) to rule Gondor. I also believe the real problem was not Fíriel but the fact that she was married to a prince of Arthedain, I don't think the Steward would have pulled the "the throne cannot be passed through a woman" argument if she had been wedded to Gondorian lord (so yes, poor Arvedui is right).


	17. A Unfortunate Intervention

**WeylandCorp 4:** I suppose the rest of the third age would have been very different, to say the least. And there would have been no return of the King, since the King would have never "left" :)

 **Celridel:** the way I see it, she was never given any real responsibilities, but now that she has the opportunity to do something, she's willing to fight.

* * *

 **Chapter 17 – An Unfortunate Intervention**

It was true that King Araphant was extremely displeased with the decision of the High Council and he blamed his son for being weak and ready to kneel in front of the Gondorians, as the prince had so far refused to claim the throne for himself. As a result, the King's mood had never been so fouled. Servants and lords alike avoided him, for he barked to anyone staring at him too long, and he spent most of the night and the day locked up in his chambers, grumbling nonsense and perusing old books.

Arvedui did not try to reach to his father – once more, he found he'd rather take care of his own family than to waste his energy on the King. Yet he could not help but worry that his father might be the source of a diplomatic incident with the south, and, moreover, he also began to realize the King was perhaps truly ill. The long years of constant threat from Angmar had taken their toll on King Araphant and his natural tendency to incense fast was not enough to explain his more recent fits of anger. It had started around a decade ago and had considerably worsened after the alliance had been made. However, Arvedui did not think there was any correlation between these two facts. It seemed he just had to face the fact that his father was old and that the sturdy nature of the Dúnedain did not keep at bay all diseases.

In the evening, King Araphant bid Arvedui and Fíriel to join him for dinner. While the invitation was not unusual, both the prince and the princess knew conversation at the table would be laborious and they were far from being enthusiastic at this prospect.

"I fear he might be particularly vicious with you," Arvedui warned his wife as they were leaving their chambers. "Perhaps I could tell him you are not feeling well and you could stay here, with Aranarth."

"If I do not come, it shall only be worse," said Fíriel, shaking her head. "Of course, I would rather spend a calm evening with our son, yet I will not flee before your father."

"You are still fragile, Fíriel…"

"He does not intimidate me," the princess replied. "Yet what of you? This terrible ordeal has been the cause of quite some tension between you and the King."

"Oh, if it had not been the claim, I believe it would have been something else."

As much as she could dislike King Araphant, Fíriel was always puzzled by the way Arvedui and him were unable to get along well. Having herself grown up in a loving household, the gap that had formed between the father and the son genuinely saddened her. However, that evening, she had no time for these considerations, as she was bracing herself for the confrontation with her father-in-law.

Upon entering the room, they saw that the Queen was not there and it was a sure sign dinner would not be spent talking about the harvest or hunting. Indeed, King Araphant was prompt to tackle the matter of the Gondorian throne and the first course had been barely served when his voice was heard.

"Well, I presume you both know why you were summoned here tonight," declared the King. "We know how to put an end to this nonsense. Arvedui, you will claim this throne for yourself, once and for all."

"This throne is not mine to claim, Father," Arvedui retorted, almost as a reflex – how many times had he said it already?

"I would say it was reasonable to let Fíriel claim it first, yet it was bound to fail," the King went on, ignoring his son's protest. "Warfare is no female specialty and only a strong leader, with strong armies, can hope to defeat both the Witch-King and the enemies of Gondor."

"I am not in the mood to put up with your delusions, I believe the situation is already quite complicated as it is," sighed Arvedui who was musing on the idea of leaving the room shortly.

"Delusions? Have you not heard the words of lord Pelendur? The High Council might meet again, yet it would be foolish to hope that their decision will be changed and I can assure you that all these Gondorian lords will do is finding other ways to deny Fíriel the crown."

It was one of the worst habits of the King, to speak of her as if she was not there, and she knew he always did it on purpose – Arvedui had told him off often enough about it.

"They have no real reason to do so, Your Highness, and I believe the Steward might have realized this yesterday," said Fíriel, growing upset.

"Did he, really? I was under the impression the almighty Steward of Gondor was hardly impressed by your person," said the King, eyeing his daughter-in-law scornfully. "Of course, it does seem being woman is not working in your favor."

Furious, Arvedui was about to reply, but Fíriel put a hand on his arm to stop him.

"Perhaps I can be discarded for being born a woman, but it is certainly not my fault the High Council is trying to take the throne away from my son," the princess said, sternly.

She was trembling a little, but her voice did not waver – it was exactly what King Araphant disliked about her, the way she never yielded in front of him. At first, her shy personality had lead him to think she would be demure and easily manipulated, yet a strong will had been hiding underneath this false modesty and the princess had always done as she pleased.

"Well, your stubbornness could be blamed, Fíriel," King Araphant told her. "You have been rejected once, it should be enough. Now, let Arvedui claim the crown, for, according to the prophecy, it is him who is truly worthy of the Gondorian crown."

"Is that what you shall tell the Gondorian lords, Father? That the words of an old prophecy have appointed me king of the two reunited kingdoms?" burst out Arvedui, rising from his seat. "It is true the High Council is reluctant to chose a Queen instead of a King, but it is also true they want no northerner to rule them and brandishing a prophecy they are barely acquainted with shall certainly not impressed them!"

"Northerner, but Dúnedain still," insisted the King, bluntly.

"Had you not left the room so quickly yesterday, you would have heard Fíriel asking the Steward about the possibility of me becoming King of Gondor, as well as lord Pelendur's prompt reply, that only an heir of Meneldir can inherit the Gondorian throne. I can only assume that the High Council has already discussed this possibility and is ready to deny me the crown."

Unimpressed, King Araphant took a sip from his cup, gesturing at Arvedui to sit down.

"Your affection for your wife has once more blinded you, my son, and that is what caused this failure. You should not let her speak for you, especially when such crucial matters are at stake, for you should have been the one pleading your cause to the High Council if you had really wanted to be taken seriously by the Gondorian lords."

"How dare you say this, father!" exclaimed Arvedui, his brow furrowed. "Ultimately, the choice is not mine to make, for, whether you like it or not, the High Council's authority prevails in this case. Why cannot you understand this?"

"You have done little so far to earn their respect and you have let a woman meddle in the affairs of men!"

"I have let the only remaining child of King Ondoher claim what is rightfully hers!"

"Oh, since the beginning of this affair, all you have managed to accomplish it to ridicule yourself and bring shame to our realm! Therefore, I have decided I cannot not let neither of you handle these dealings any longer," said the King loudly, glowering at his son and daughter-in-law. "Fíriel, from now on you are forbidden to use the Stone and as for you, Arvedui, you shall only access it under my supervision."

At once, the prince and the princess tried to protest.

"You Highness, how could –"

"Father, what –"

"Enough!" roared King Araphant, hitting the table with one fist – drinks spilled all over the tablecloth. "Enough! I shall hear no more from you two. I will deal with the Steward myself, for I am still King of Arthedain, after all, am I not?"

"Father, tell him we will travel to Minas Anor to plead our case in person, but I beg of you, do not –"

"Silence! Arvedui, since you refuse to do it, I shall make the claim in your name! It is about time someone tells these Gondorian lords what terrible mistake they are about to commit!"

"You cannot –"

"Oh, I can and I will! Now, out of my sight, or I will send you to the northern frontiers at first light on the morrow!"

* * *

In shock, Fíriel could hardly believe what she had just heard. Next to her, Arvedui was bewildered he was being escorted to his quarters, on his own father's orders, and he was too stunned to decide whether he should go back in to confront the King once more or head directly to the tower where the palantíri were stored. For most of his adult life, he had had a conflicting relationship with his father and while it had considerably worsened over the last years, he was still reluctant to openly disobey to King Araphant's orders.

"What should I do?" he muttered. "I could talk to lord Pelendur tonight, warn him about what my father is planning to do… Yet it would only further heighten my father's ire and it would not help you, would it? It would only provide lord Pelendur with a good argument to discard you and me once and for all..."

"Is there perhaps a chance he might be convinced his method will be unsuccessful? Once he has calmed down…"

A sad smile appeared on Arvedui's face. "There is so much rage boiling within him, I'm afraid this time he won't overcome it."

"Arvedui, I mean not to be rude, but your father… is he in his normal state?" inquired Fíriel, gently taking her husband's hand in hers, entwining their fingers together.

"He is old, even for one of the Dúnedain, and he was ever… grumpy. Yet never aggressive, never like that… I might have to call upon a meeting of the royal council to discuss this." He paused and frowned. "I shall need to be discreet, for if words of this should reach him…"

"And for now, what should we do?"

Fíriel was scared. King Araphant's yells had stunned her, but it was not the worst part. On the one hand, the King was about to ruin all her efforts to inherit her father's throne, on the other hand, Arvedui was put in a delicate position – she could see the hesitation in his grey gaze.

"It is unlikely he will seek to speak to the Steward tonight, that leaves us a few hours to come up with a plan," Fíriel told him.

"I wish they would listen to us, those Gondorians lords, the Steward, my father…" said Arvedui in a low voice. "However, it seems they all have their own conception of what should be done and they cannot be bothered to pause and think ahead a little."

"It does feel like it is you and me against the rest of them."

"Indeed… Yet, what if… what if we fail?"

"Then we shall do our best with what we have," Fíriel said, resigned.

* * *

The next day, Arvedui was up very early, for he simply had not been sleeping. As always, when he suffered from insomnia, he roamed around his bedchamber, his son's and his study. In the darkest hours of the night, he truly felt miserable and overwhelmed, and he tried to take an objective look at the events that had happened ever since the death of King Ondoher and his sons. At first, it had been simple, for, despite her mourning, Fíriel had claimed the Gondorian throne for herself and for Aranarth and it had been quite a logical thing to do – there were no other clearly designated heir. But quickly, oh so quickly, it had become a mess Arvedui felt unable to untangle all by himself.

Dawn came and Arvedui decided he should go see the King. He did not expect a warm welcome, yet he reckoned there was a slight chance he could bring back his father to his senses. It would be complicated to persuade King Araphant to let go his idea of speaking to the Steward himself, yet Arvedui had to try. And if it failed, then Arvedui would face a terrible dilemma: he had no mean to compel the King to do anything and he surely would not resort to force to prevent him from using the palantír. However, in the end, would he not disappoint Fíriel, by not being able to stand against his father? Or worse, would he not loath himself for having remained idle at such a crucial moment? Yet as much as he was convinced to be right, Arvedui was not sure he could bring himself to betray his father so blatantly.

There was so much at stake, he thought. It was not just a crown, it was perhaps the destiny of the Dúnedain – at least, that was what he told himself, hurrying to the tower where the palantíri were stored. There were guards standing in front of the door and, in all honesty, Arvedui had not been expecting this. As soon he approached them, they shifted slightly, and both were obviously feeling uneasy when they had to stop him from entering the room in which the main palantír was kept.

"My Lord, the King has given us strict orders not to let you go further."

"May I speak to him?" inquired Arvedui.

"The King wished not to be disturbed for the moment."

"It is urgent," the prince said curtly.

"My Lord, the King was clear –"

The guard was interrupted by King Araphant himself who had opened the door and deigned present himself in front of his son.

"Arvedui! I knew you would come," he said, a dangerous smile spreading on his face. "What I do not know, however, are your intentions. Thus, I ask you, are you here to second me or to defend your wife?"

"Father, I came to beg you to let me ride to Gondor and handle the situation by myself."

"By letting Fíriel reassert her claim once more?"

"It is the only right thing to do," said Arvedui, staring right through his father's eyes.

They used to be around the same height, but as the years had passed, the King had shrunk and Arvedui was now looking down at him.

"Then, we disagree."

"Father –"

"Leave, Arvedui," ordered the King, waving at his son.

"I cannot let you do this."

"And how shall you stop me? With your fists, with your sword?"

"I believe you are reasonable enough to understand it is a terrible idea for you to claim the Gondorian throne on my behalf," Arvedui said, as calmly as he could. "It belongs to Fíriel and to Aranarth, and there is a fair chance they might inherit it, should we ride to Minas Anor."

"The prophecy says –"

"I shall be King of Arthedain and King consort of Gondor, it is not enough to fulfill the prophecy, Father?"

For a second, Arvedui thought he had won, as he saw his father's resolve waver.

"Leave. I shan't make the Steward wait for me any longer."

Arvedui raised his hand, as if to reach to his father, and none of the guards move.

"Leave," repeated the King. "Or I shall make sure you never see this beloved wife of yours."

And Arvedui left, broken-hearted, although he did not go to his quarters, where Fíriel waited anxiously for his return. Instead, he headed to Chamberlain Cirion's rooms, for he had decided that it was perhaps time the case of the King's horrible temper was seriously discussed by the royal council of Arthedain – he would not use his fists or his sword against his father, but he would fight nonetheless.

* * *

 _"Lord Pelendur, judging from your surprised look, I presume you were expecting to see the princess."_

 _"Thus far, she has been my interlocutor whenever matters of inheritance were debated."_

Lord Pelendur was a conscientious man and, for this first meeting with King Araphant, he had brought witnesses with him – among them was the Prince of Belfalas himself.

 _"Indeed, yet I have realized I was too lenient with her and it was a mistake to let her speak alone."_

 _"Was it?"_ Lord Pelendur raised his eyebrows. He did not believe King Araphant had ever been lenient – he had probably been thinking the best strategy to gain the throne of Gondor was to let lady Fíriel claim it.

 _"It was and I daresay it lead you to exceed the powers conferred upon you, Steward."_

 _"These are grave accusations, King Araphant. It is quite offensive as well, not only to me, but to the late King Ondoher, who had put his trust in me, and to the people of Gondor."_

 _"Yet you did betray your King, by rejecting his daughter and grandson's claim, invoking vague reasons to justify your choice."_

 _"As you may remember, Your Highness, the High Council has agreed to reconsider its initial decision. Thus, as of now, there is still a possibility that the princess could become the ruling Queen of Gondor."_

 _"I suppose even you cannot overlook so quickly the fact that she is King Ondoher's only remaining child, but there is no need for any of this flourished speech with me, lord Pelendur. It might have satisfied my daughter-in-law, yet I know your High Council has not intentions of handing her the crown."_

 _"Have you been blessed with such extraordinary foresight that you can tell the outcome of our deliberations so soon, Your Majesty?"_

 _"You are at war, I therefore presume you will turn to this general whose ties to the royal family are vague at best. You seek a warrior-king, that I understand, yet lord Eärnil is not your only option."_

At that moment, the prince of Belfalas, who stood behind the Steward, was about to agree with what King Araphant would say – believing he would cleverly explain how his son and Fíriel were the perfect candidates to rule a reunited realm of the Dúnedain. Lord Pelendur, however, knew it was time to exploit the King's weaknesses.

 _"What does this mean exactly, Your Highness?"_

 _"Were you and the High Council to chose Fíriel, I do hope you understand my son and I shall watch over her when she ascends the throne. She can hold the title of Queen of Gondor if it pleases you, yet it is my son who shall exert the real power. It is his destiny to reunite the two kingdoms of the Dúnedain."_

 _"His destiny? Your Majesty, we cannot elect the next ruler of Gondor on the base of a prophecy that has been interpreted so loosely over the last decades and it certainly does not constitute an argument for you son to disregard the birthright of lady Fíriel or lord Eärnil."_

King Araphant could no longer contain his anger, for he was under the impression lord Pelendur was being condescending with him.

 _"Open your eyes, Stewart! A mighty King must be elected if we hope to defeat the Witch-King! I have seen him, I have seen his legions of Orcs and other fiends, and it might seem to be a faraway threat for you, Southerners, yet should he crush my realm, he would then march your way!"_

 _"Gondor has already pledged to help Arthedain in time of need, are you perhaps not satisfied with the terms of our alliance, King Araphant?"_

 _"Would Fíriel be able to command armies? Would lord Eärnil remember his kin, in the North? I do tell you, Steward, none but my son can save both our kingdoms and to achieve this he needs Gondor's strength."_

 _"Thus, this is what you have yearned for all along, King Araphant – the might of our realm which yours has lost long ago to petty quarrels… Yet it seems you have forgotten we will be electing a new ruler for_ Gondor _and that it was never suggested before that our two realms should be joined. And I should also make it clear that no law forces the High Council of Gondor to pay heed to your demands regarding these matters of inheritance."_

 _"Have the people of the house of Húrin lost all the wisdom their Númenórean ancestors possessed? The next King of Gondor will seal the destiny of the Dúnedain, for better or worse! And if a contemptuous lord like you cannot comprehend what is at stake, then perhaps Gondor would fare better without you, Stewart!"_

At this point, the prince of Belfalas, and all the other witnesses the Steward had brought with him, were stunned. They had been told King Araphant was a difficult character but none of them had ever imagined he would lose his temper so quickly, in such a formal context, when such important things were being discussed.

 _"How dare you insult me, King Araphant? And how can you expect the High Council to consider seriously your claim? Pray, where is your son? Can he not speak for himself? And what of the princess?"_

 _"I am the King of Arthedain, you should not be surprised I speak on the prince's behalf! As for the princess, do you not remember you were the one who rejected her? I am only trying to fix your mistakes, Lord Pelendur!"_

 _"I believe I have heard enough! As a Steward of Gondor, I cannot tolerate your disrespectful behavior. Yet perhaps I should thank you, King Araphant, for I am now sure the High Council's first decision was right and lord Eärnil shall become king of Gondor. Adding on our previous concerns, it has now become clear it would be a dangerous move to entrust anyone under your influence with the Gondorian crown."_

 _"You shall be responsible for the death of many innocents, Stewart!"_

The King had had yelled, but the Steward had remained still.

It was the last lord Pelendur heard of King Araphant. The old man had gone mad, it seemed, and this was what the Stewart would report to the High Council, supported by the precious testimonies of the Prince of Belfalas and his comrades. It would be yet another argument in disfavor of lady Fíriel who, although she was the daughter of the late King Ondoher, was a woman, wedded to a foreign prince, dwelling in a kingdom ruled by a lunatic man.

Oh, it was unfortunate the princess had such a terrible father-in-law, but it was no more the responsibility of the Gondorian lords to deal with this – the High Council had to protect the crown, first and foremost.

* * *

Just to clarify, when the King threatens Arvedui he might never see his wife again, I do not mean for him to threaten to kill Fíriel (not at all in fact!). His style would be more to send Arvedui somewhere north to fight and to send Fíriel back to Gondor for a while. He had exile in mind, not murder.


	18. A New King

This chapter is a transition, so there is no much dialogues and it covers around 20-25 years (from 1944 to ~1970). After that, it's almost the end. I wanted to end at Chapter 20, to have a nice round number, but it might end up being a bit longer…

* * *

 **Chapter 18 - A New King  
**

During this winter of the year 1944 of the Third Age, life considerably changed in Arthedain.

After his unfortunate confrontation with lord Pelendur, King Araphant had withdrawn himself from state affairs and no more bothered to attend to royal councils, or to any other public activity for that matter. He had no illness, yet his body had greatly weakened and his mind wandered, lost in confused thoughts about the future of his realm and of his family. Queen Gilwen took care of him and few were allowed in his chambers – rumours had quickly spread that the King was dying. Despite everything, there was one positive change about the King and it was that he finally seemed to have noticed Aranarth. The little boy now visited his grandfather almost everyday, sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for longer, and a bond was forged between the two of them that surprised everyone. Alas, as the years would pass, King Araphant's moments of lucidity would become few and nothing would remain in his mind but a strong fear of what was to come.

Thus, in the years that followed Arvedui was king in all but title. Hopefully, he was more than ready to assume power and the lords of Fornost welcomed him with great relief, for they had had much trouble to deal with King Araphant for quite some time already. Command suited him well, as it was natural for him to give orders and he had prepared all his life to rule Arthedain, yet he wished the transition between him and his father would have occurred in better circumstances. Arvedui was pained by the drastic change that his father had undergone and, truth was, he could hardly feel resentful towards him. He had begun to suspect that the Steward of Gondor had never meant to hand Fíriel the crown, regardless of his father's behavior, and he was sad that the succession of King Ondoher had ended up being so damaging to his family.

Fíriel was different too. While she had been defending her right to ascend the Gondorian throne, she had been able to muster her strength and focus on this single task. Yet now that all hope of inheriting the crown had vanished, she was back to mourning her father and her brothers – and her kingdom as well. All this grief had tainted her grey gaze with melancholy, she had become thinner and her skin was paler under her freckles. Like her husband, she was beyond holding a grudge against King Araphant, for she now pitied the old man, and most of her resentment was directed at the Steward and the other Gondorian lords who had been so prompt to abandon her.

Her spirits were slightly lift up in Spring, when her mother arrived in Fornost. Queen Russiel had not quite recovered from the shock of the brutal passing of her husband and of her sons and she probably would never be the same fierce woman she had been before – there was something broken within her and her bright red hair had faded, and the light in her eyes was gone. She did find some solace in the presence of her daughter, the only person who could understand the depth of her sadness, and of her grandson, who managed to make her smile again. Yet her heart would always be in Gondor, where those she had loved so much had been laid in their graves.

And so, months passed and Fíriel began to get better. She had resumed her usual routine, laughing with Meldis, playing with her son and sharing tender moments with her husband, yet there were times when memories overwhelmed her and she felt hopelessly distressed. Whenever it happened, it did worry Arvedui, but not nearly as much as the way she refused to discuss any matter related to Gondor, as if this kingdom meant nothing to her. She had let her husband deal with the renewal of the alliance and what had once been an important cause to her had become a burden.

She could admit that lord Eärnil was a reasonable man, wise even, and she knew it was lucky he had decided to maintain the newly forged ties between the two realms, for the succession had done more harm than good to the Dúnedain. Yet, deep down, she still thought she had been robbed from the throne and ever would there be a rancor in her heart regarding this matter – and unknowingly, she would pass it on to her children. On that, Arvedui could hardly disagree with her and, as silly as it was, he felt partially responsible for this failure. He deemed he had lacked leadership while parleying with the Stewart of Gondor and perhaps he should have gone south with Fíriel as soon as it had been announced King Ondoher and his sons had fallen on the battle field.

Thus, after long months of sorrow and uncertainty, Arvedui and Fíriel decided they should concentrate on what was important: their family and the kingdom of Arthedain. The two of them made a promise to each other, as solemn as their wedding vows, that they would forget about quarrels and claims and that was when their smiles became genuine once more. Even though the words of the prophecy were still haunting them, they chose to live as happily as they could.

In the year 1945 of the Third Age, lord Eärnil became the thirty-second king of Gondor, yet to those who dwelled in the north, it seemed to them that it was a faraway event and that it did not affect them. The new monarch had no use for the palantír, however, after his official coronation, he did send a message to Arvedui, through the old north-south road, and it said, "I do not forget the loyalty of Arnor, nor deny our kinship, nor wish that the realms of Elendil should be estranged. I will send you aid when you have need, so far as I am able.". That was all that was heard from the King of Gondor for a long time.

* * *

Despite the bitterness they both had felt in the aftermath of this crisis, the years that followed were the most peaceful Arvedui and Fíriel had ever known. In the year 1947 of the Third Age, a daughter was born to them, a beautiful girl they named Andúniel, who seemed to have inherit both her parents' best traits – and perhaps a bit of paternal grandfather's stubbornness. And seven years later, Fíriel gave birth to twins. The two boys had auburn hair, like their maternal grandmother, and their round little cheeks were covered with freckles. It was decided they would be called Artamir and Faramir, after their late uncles, and there was no doubt they would turn into fine handsome princes.

Thus, Fíriel and Arvedui's family grew, and so did their happiness, for their four children had become a constant source of joy. They filled the halls of the palace with their laughter, they ran around the gardens and the corridors and they played pranks on guards – not too often, fortunately. The little princes and princess were very lively and it seemed that at the time, there were more and more youngsters in Fornost, as if the people of Arthedain had been encouraged by the example set by the prince and the princess. And among all these little ones, there were the daughter and the son of lord Cirion and Meldis, as the latter had finally understood the Chamberlain's love was sincere and they had married.

Mundanities were one thing, yet politic was still difficult and contacts with Gondor had become scarce. On the one hand, there was no need for either kingdom to call upon the other for aid and on the other hand, the coronation of lord Eärnil had put quite a strain on any efforts to bring closer the Dúnedain of the north and the south. Ever since her mother had left Minas Anor, it seemed Fíriel had no more reason to use the palantír and sometimes it was as if she had forgotten she had been born and raised in Gondor – which was not the case, as the White Tree still haunted her dreams. She did receive letters from the Prince of Belfalas, on the occasion that traders from the south took the long road to the north, and she always wrote back to him, even though she limited herself to trivial commentaries and avoided political matters.

As for Arvedui, he could only note that the two Dúnedain realms were falling apart once more, despite the apparent goodwill of King Eärnil. Perhaps it was lord Pelendur, the Steward, who had convinced his liege Arthedain was not worthy of his attention, or perhaps the new King felt a certain discomfort towards Fíriel. Whatever the real issue was, the alliance was now merely a strategic one and besides war, not much would be discussed between the north and the south. Arvedui did hope that the passing of time would bring another occasion to close the gap between his kingdom and Gondor, yet he still bitterly regretted the passing of King Ondoher and his sons. He knew it would have been different with them – not just different, but better, and he would not have felt so lonely in his war against the Witch-King.

* * *

The year Arvedui became King of Arthedain, in 1964, after his father had passed away, was also the year he turned 100. For someone with a prestigious ancestry like his, it was not an impressive number, but it did mean he had become what his mother liked to call a mature man. There was not a single silver strand in his black hair, but his beard was flacked with grey, and a few more wrinkles had appeared at the corner of his eyes, as well as some lines on his forehead, yet, altogether, it worked in his favour and gave him a regal air.

He was acclaimed by the people, as he had ever been well-loved by them, and the enthusiasm caused by his crowning almost entirely wiped off the worries some could have expressed at his ascension to the throne. There was not a single lord to doubt Arvedui's capacities to govern and he was widely admired by soldiers, yet none could forget he was to be the _last king_ – at least, according to the old prophecy. It would have been a lie to say that Arvedui himself had not thought about it, for the words of the Seer were on his mind whenever Aranarth sat by his side during councils, and he oft wondered what the future held for his heir and his younger children. The words of the Seer were vague, yet if Arvedui was accurately named, it meant something terrible would befall him or his children. Or perhaps his realm would fall under a terrible attack of the Witch-King, and, should he survive it, he would have no more land to rule. Either ways, he could not afford to let himself drag down by doubt and if truly he was to be the last of his line to rule Arthedain, then he would do all he could to spare his family and his people any suffering.

During the celebrations, he gave the Elendilmir to Fíriel who ended up wearing it only once, on the day of his coronation. It was not exactly protocol, for the gems were a symbol of the Kings of the north, yet Arvedui thought it suited her better than him – and, well, she was just as much a descendant of Elendil as he was. The jewel set on her brow, Fíriel was beautiful and _queenly_ and there was great fondness in Arvedui's eyes whenever his gaze fell on her. He was happy she was his wife, happy that, despite everything, their marriage was a success, as unexpected as it had been. He drew great strength from her presence by his side, much like he deemed himself more powerful since he had become a father, and within his heart the hope still lived that the prophecy would not be fulfilled – especially this dreadful line, _"then much sorrow and many lives of men shall pass, until the Dúnedain arise and are united again"._

* * *

The summer that followed his coronation, Arvedui decided to spend a fortnight with his family at lake Evendim, not far from the ruins of Annúminas. He and Fíriel usually traveled there for a few days every year, yet this time they wished to extend their stay and enjoy some time away from Fornost with their children. They had brought a small retinue with them, comprising their closest friends, and upon their arrival by the lake, it seemed there was nothing better to do than to enjoy the beauties of nature.

Soon enough, Andúniel and the twins were wading in the lake, chasing tirelessly after crayfish and dragonflies, and they burst in laughter every time one of them splashed the others. Aranarth, whose coming of age had been the year before, had decided he was too old for these silly games and, with a group of young men, he was already planning a little hunting expedition – like his father, he loved the delicious meat of lake Evendim's ducks.

As for Arvedui and Fíriel, they did not partake in any activity, for they were quite content to stroll on the lake's bank, relishing the freshness of the grass under their feet and the warmth of the summer breeze in their hair. It was a beautiful day, one of these days when it was easy to forget about war and about past sorrows, and, among blooming flowers and chirping birds, the King and Queen of Arthedain felt like newlyweds again – it was rare they got to spend time alone together outside of their chambers.

They both loved the lake and they reminisced about their first trip there, many years ago, when they had been betrothed. It seemed so foolish now how they had been so cold and awkward towards one another during these months before their wedding, each of them believing there was nothing to hope from an arranged union. Arvedui, especially, remembered that he had thought Fíriel would be of no use when his time would come to rule, aside from giving him an heir, and his lack of judgement then still baffled him. They sure had come a long way and he was glad he no more was alone, and this was something he had never clearly expressed to his wife as of yet.

"Fíriel, there is something I have to tell you…" said Arvedui, turning to her, a smile softening his features. "These years with you, with our children… We have faced tragedies, we fought, sometimes winning, sometimes losing, yet, you should know that these years with you, they are the happiest of my life."

It was quite a confession, for Arvedui was not one to elaborate on his feelings, and Fíriel took a few seconds to savour these words – to her, who was used to her husband's reserved character, it was quite a beautiful love declaration.

"You speak as if it might come to an end soon," she said, settling herself into his arms, breathing in his scent with delight. "But I do hope many more years like these are to come."

"It was not my intention to scare you," Arvedui assured her, kissing her brow. "I also pray we grow old together, and see our children wed and have their own sons and daughter."

"Those of our kin are still blessed with quite a long lifespan, thus I suppose you shall have to put up with me for a few more decades at the very least," Fíriel teased him, as she cupped his face.

"A lifetime with you is all I could ask for, my beloved," Arvedui muttered in her ear, winding a hand in her hair.

His tone was fervent, but also very solemn, and his wife frowned a little, gazing at him.

"Today the Sun is bright, perhaps it is all we should think about," she told him and, tiptoeing, she kissed him – she did not want to be reminded of the prophecy and of the possibility that everything they had could be shattered at anytime.

Arvedui could only agree and he bent his head down to kiss back his wife. They were sometimes so busy with state affairs and with their children, not to mention that every winter they spent at least several weeks apart, when Arvedui traveled to the northern borders, that it always felt extremely good when they could simply be lovers once again. Thus, they soon were quite absorbed in their embrace, and oblivious of their surroundings, and they were delighted they'd have plenty of opportunities to catch up with their _marital duties_ during the following days.

"Father! Mother!" yelled a voice, not so far from them.

"Father! Mo… What are you doing?" There was clear disgust on Artamir's face and, beside him, Faramir was pouting.

Fíriel chuckled a little, for she had long gotten used to the fact that her children were uncomfortable with hers and Arvedui's displays of affection. It was a naïve reaction and sometimes she'd kiss her husband on the lips just annoy the twins – it never failed to do so. This time, however, she restrained herself, even though Arvedui still held her close, and peered down at her sons wondering what they were up to.

"Father, Mother, come see the crayfish we caught, it is so big!" said Artamir, eyeing his parents suspiciously.

"It is enormous and Aranarth says we can cook it tonight."

"Ah, so Aranarth did lend you a hand?" asked Fíriel.

"No, he says catching crayfish is for babies," answered Faramir and he was still vexed he had been called a baby, for he was quite proud to have turned ten years old.

"But Andúniel helped us a little."

It was actually Andúniel who had done most of the work, but in the twins' mind, the crayfish was clearly their trophy and not hers.

"Come, Father," said Faramir, giving Arvedui a pleading look.

"Alright, let us see if this crayfish is as big as you pretend," said Arvedui, grabbing his son's hand.

If there was one thing the King of Arthedain loved, it was to be called "Father". He also appreciated that, sometimes, he could have very serious discussions with his children about the best ways to cook a crayfish – it was delightfully different from the serious talks about war that kept him busy during the cold months. He loved it, and he loved summer.

* * *

Arvedui was a good king. He fought valiantly to protect his realm's borders, he did his best to unite the men in North, rallying Cardolan and Rhudaur's soldiers under his banners, and he tried to maintain a cordial relationship with Gondor. He was a good father too, adoring his children and raising them to become noble princes and princess. And if anyone had asked Fíriel, she would have said he was a good husband and that she could hardly imagine what her life would have turned out be, had she not met him – surely, she would not have fallen in love with anyone else.

Arvedui was a good king and he was a happy one as well. But, alas for him, and for all those who were dear to him, his reign was short. It barely lasted a decade.

* * *

The line from Eärnil is not mine, it is Tolkien's. And out of their four children, only Aranarth is canon, but I thought he needed some siblings!


	19. A Sudden Attack

**Celridel:** Thank you! They deserved some fluff amidst all their troubles…

This story will come to an end soon, and I'm afraid it won't end well L (If you have ever read the appendixes after the LotR or if you just remember some of Aragorn's background story, you might have guessed it already).

* * *

 **Chapter 19 – A Sudden Attack**

 **T.A. 1974 - December**

The day had begun well. As usual, after having had breakfast, Fíriel had headed to the greenhouses where she was greeted by the gardeners and, in their company, she had inspected the oleander that had been planted recently. It was a gift from the Prince of Belfalas, whose loyalty towards the Queen of Arthedain had never faltered over the years, and they were all curious to see if it could be acclimated successfully – although they were quite confident, for lavender they had been given previously had quickly proliferated. When Fíriel had finished her tour, she went to join Meldis in their favorite spot, by the fountain, and she sat down with her friend to share a cup of tea while reviewing reports she had been handed earlier. She loved calm days like that.

However, in the early afternoon, just as she was about to go mushroom hunting with Andúniel, the twins, Meldis and Meldis' youngest daughter, a squire came to tell her Arvedui was holding an extraordinary council and that her presence there was required. From the way the young man's bottom lip had quivered when he had made his announcement, Fíriel had presumed something grave had happened, yet she was still far off from imagining what terrible threat the kingdom was facing. And thus, she bid the others to go out as they had planned, and then followed the squire throughout the halls of the palace.

In the vast room where councils were held, Arvedui and Aranarth stood side by side, in front of a large table on which a map of the northern regions had been laid. Around them had gathered the most prominent captains of Fornost and all of them looked quite stern, as they were staring at the map and the pawns that represented their troops. Fíriel was no tactician, but she had learned enough about war to understand the Dúnedain of the North were under an unpreceded menace.

Her gaze met Arvedui's and, bracing herself, she inquired, "What has happened?"

"All our outposts in the north-east have fallen, those who could flee have taken refuge in the North Downs", he answered, somberly. "Rhudaur has been completely wiped off, thus the road to the east and to Rivendell is blocked, and some men from Cardolan arrived this morning and said most of their people have fled to the South Downs. It seems we must organize a counter-attack quickly if we do not want the enemy to invade Fornost within the next days…"

"What forces does Angmar possess?"

"The scouts have said their numbers are greater than anything we ever had to fight before, and that they burn the land as they progress, leaving nothing but ashes and desolation behind them."

Fíriel bit her lip, taking a second to inhale and exhale slowly. "What of Gondor? Have they finally answered your call?"

She knew better than anyone else in the room that the might of southern armies had the capacity of crushing all those Orcs that were marching towards Fornost, yet she wondered just how quickly the Gondorian troops could move and, also, just how willing King Eärnil was to come to the help of Arthedain. And, truth was, she was a little sceptic regarding that.

"The warden of the Stone has been trying to contact the Gondorians since this morning, he shall come notify me once he will have reached them."

Fíriel frowned, but made no comment. Months ago, when scouts had seen a dark smoke rise above Carn Dûm, messengers had been sent to the south, since they could no more rely on the palantíri to contact King Eärnil, but they had yet to hear from Gondor.

"Mother, I believe we can hold our lines till the Gondorians arrived," Aranarth told her and of all the lords and the captains present, he was by far the most confident – he was also the youngest. "By boat, it shall not be long for them to travel to the north."

"Until then, however, we will have to act swiftly."

Fíriel sat down with the men and listened to their discussions. Although she was welcomed to comment their arguments and decisions, she rarely did so and the main reason she attended these military councils was so that she understood in detail what would happen on the battlefield. Not only did it lessened her fear of war itself, but it also enabled her to be more efficient when she governed alone in Fornost. And this time, Arvedui would have to rely on her more than usual and, ultimately, she might have to evacuate the city and lead her people to safety – wherever that was.

In the end, she left the room around dinner time, after Arvedui, Aranarth and the captains seemed to agree on how to deploy their troops, and by then she knew the Witch-King had mustered armies great enough to put an end to this ongoing war that had been wearing out the Dúnedain of the north for centuries. Around the table, that evening, she had no choice but to announce to Andúniel, Artamir and Faramir that legions of Orcs were heading their way and she could find no words soothing enough to make it sound as if Arthedain had a fair chance to win the battle against such a formidable foe.

It was the first of a long series of gloomy dinners.

* * *

Arvedui came back late to their chambers and, despite her anxiousness, Fíriel had been dozing off, curled up in their bed. Her husband, his features drawn, sat by her side and, for a few moments, he was silent, his hand gently running through her hair. They had many things to talk about, yet there was one issue that truly worried Fíriel.

"Arvedui, about Aranarth…" she said, as she rose to sit.

"Aranarth will not come me," Arvedui told her at once, "I have ordered him to remain here, in Fornost."

"He must be displeased," Fíriel muttered, but deep down, she felt an immense relief.

Arvedui rubbed his face, recalling his son's reaction. "To say that he is disappointed would be an understatement… He is upset, and rightfully so, yet it would be ill-advised to bring him with me." He paused, taking his wife's hands in hers. "Dearest Fíriel, I am afraid that this time the Witch-King intends to destroy us once and for all… We are too few to stand against him and never has he strike us with such strength."

As much as she had been expecting these words, Fíriel felt her heart sink in her chest and she winced, "We have always known this days would come, have we not?"

Arvedui nodded gravely, shifting closer to her. "Fíriel, I want you to be ready to evacuate Fornost, on short notice."

"Is it not –"

"Should the enemy break our lines," Arvedui went on, ignoring her protest, "you shall have to lead our people to safety, in the Grey Havens where lord Círdan will welcome you."

"Arvedui…"

"I'm afraid we should be ready to face the worst."

"Alright," Fíriel told him, devastated.

In other times, when she had been younger, she'd probably have dissolved in tears right then. She had always hated to see Arvedui leave for the northern borders and part of her had had always feared his fate would be similar to her father's and brothers'. These feeling had not changed, but she had gotten better at concealing them – and she wept only when she was alone.

"I presume you still have much to prepare?"

"Yes, for we shall depart soon. Some troops will leave tonight, and I shall leave within two days."

They had no need for words to understand each other. Arvedui did not say he'd be taking a great risk, fighting the armies of Angmar, and Fíriel did not have to tell him how distressed she felt at the idea of seeing him leave. There was nothing more to say and they simply embraced each other, in the darkness of their chamber.

Neither of them slept well that night, but on the morning, they pretended to be rested and to be ready to tend to their duties.

* * *

In the course of these two days, Fíriel had little time to worry, for she was very busy helping organize the defence of Fornost. In case of defeat on the battlefield, it would become the very last bastion of the Dúnedain in the North, yet if the enemy was to besiege the city, civilians would have to leave it quickly.

It was among the turmoil of the streets of Fornost that Fíriel came across her eldest son. She had supposed Arvedui had told Aranarth to assist his mother, since he would also be in charge of protecting the fortress, yet there was something the young prince wanted to discuss first.

"Mother, would you plead my case to Father? I should be alongside him when he goes to battle against the Witch-King!"

Fíriel had expected her Aranarth's bad mood, yet she had not imagined he would turn to her for help, and thus she sounded a little harsh when she replied, "Aranarth, you are subjected to the King's orders, as everyone is in Arthedain, and if you are not satisfied with his decision, then it is to him, and only him, that you should complain."

"He won't even listen to me… Perhaps I am not a seasoned warrior, but we rode together on several occasions and I am well acquainted with the northern borders!"

"Aranarth, this has nothing to do with your abilities to lead men into battle."

"Then what is it? Are you telling me he is being selfish, hiding his own son in safety, while the sons of others will risk their lives on the battlefield?"

"Of course, he wants to protect you, because he loves you, yet do not forget you are also his heir, and should something terrible befall him, it would be your turn to ascend the throne and to defend the kingdom," retorted Fíriel, annoyed. "The Dúnedain of the north surely have no need for dead princes."

Aranarth blinked, staring at his mother, and then color spread on his cheeks, for he suddenly felt ashamed. "Mother, I meant not to…"

"I know, my dear," said Fíriel, her voice softer. "Your father is not robbing you from your glory, he merely has yours and the realm's best interests at heart."

"You are right… Yet it will be hard to watch him go and it will be a torture to wait for his return."

"It will be very hard, indeed. Let us hope the Gondorians will send troops to aid us."

"They are our kin and have vowed to come to our help, it is only a matter of time before their banners float next to ours."

"I do hope you are right, Aranarth."

But, for the moment, the Gondorians had not answered their calls and it was as if they had forgotten the existence of their palantír, and of the Dúnedain of the north.

* * *

The family always dined together before Arvedui was to leave Fornost to ride to the northern borders. It was a tradition of theirs they had established when Aranarth had been old enough to understand that he would not see his father for weeks and months. This time, however, the atmosphere around the table was particularly heavy and the delicious food they had been served was quite unfairly scorned, for none of them was truly hungry.

Sitting on Arvedui's right, Aranarth was still upset, although now it was because he had grasped the scope of the danger the realm was facing and the immense task that his father would attempt to undertake. Next to him, his sister Andúniel was pale and she threw worried looks at her father every now and then, seeking some comfort in his calm demeanor. Like Arvedui, she was usually good at concealing her feelings, but for once she had trouble doing so and Fíriel could see her daughter had wept not long ago. Out of them all, the twins ate the most, since they were still at that age when their appetite was voracious, but they put no heart into it. Like Aranarth, they both wished they could follow their father to battle, even though they had yet to come of age, yet they were also scared that this time the Witch-King had gathered armies too strong for the Dúnedain to handle.

And, also invited, were the two dowager queens, Arvedui's mother and Fíriel's mother, who had become great friends over the years. As they were getting older, it was a comfort for both of them to dwell in the same halls and to watch their grandchildren grow, and oft they had prayed these peaceful days would last for long. But that night, the pair, who was usually quite chatty, remained silent for the most part, and they felt weary, for they had lived through too many battles and too many tragedies.

Fíriel did her best to lighten the mood, but it was of no use. She could not lie to her children and pretend everything would turn out to be fine, thus she ended monologuing for quite some time about her new oleander and how this tree reminded of the trips she had made to Belfalas in her younger days. Yet she realized that talking of the greenhouses and of Gondor was doing more harm than good, and in the end, they finished dinner quickly, each of them brooding silently.

* * *

Once again, Arvedui came back late from the council room and Fíriel was not sleeping, she was waiting for him, in one of the seats by the hearth. She had spent the last hours sorting out her belongings, trying to gauge what she should bring with her if she had to flee from Fornost. In the end, she had filled a trunk with old books and jewelry, as it seemed nothing was more precious than lore and gems. Well, she had also indulged herself and added some of the tiny clothes her children used to wear when they had been toddlers, for many fond memories were attached to these items, and it always brought a smile to a face to remember that Aranarth, Andúniel, Artamir and Faramir had been so small.

And once she had finished packing, she had collapsed in an armchair, staring at the fire burning in the hearth, and when Arvedui had come in, she immediately asked him:

"Are you all set?"

"Yes. It seems far-fetched to say we are ready, but we have done our best with what we have," he replied, walking towards her and bending down to kiss her forehead.

"Any word from Gondor?"

He shook his head, grimly. "There is no warden watching over the palantír in Minas Anor."

Fíriel bit her lip, furious. "That King was quick to forget about his promise."

"I have sent some more messengers, they should reach Gondor within a month hopefully."

 _Hopefully_. Had not the matter been so grave, Fíriel would have snorted. A month was a very optimistic expectation, and even then…

"This is long enough for you to –"

"Fíriel, let us not talk about this," Arvedui interrupted her, frowning. "For a few hours, still I am here, with you, and I do intend to enjoy this time we have to ourselves."

"Forgive me, Arvedui, I…" she said, getting up. "Perhaps you should rest already, who knows when you shall sleep in a bed again."

"Comfort is the least of my worries," he told her, wrapping is arms around her, "but I will sorely miss your company."

Fíriel managed to smile, although she was fighting an urge to cry. "It is not the first time war will have us sundered."

"Indeed," he kissed her brow, then her cheeks, and her lips. "Yet I am afraid it might be long before we are reunited…"

"Me too." She did her best not to sigh and, closing her eyes, she let him kiss her.

They made love, slowly and carefully, as if they meant to remember exactly how it felt, to be together. Afterwards, unlike Arvedui, Fíriel could not fall asleep – she never could when he was about to go away. Usually, she thought of how lonely it would feel in their chambers, without him, and how the children would be eagerly waiting for his return, yet this time she felt devastated and she was wondering if she'd be able to keep her calm composure on the morning, when she would be watching the troops leave Fornost.

She was worried about her sons and her daughter as well. Aranarth was perhaps old enough to take care of himself, but also old enough to understand the risks his father was taking, against the forces of Angmar. Andúniel, like her mother and her grandmothers, had grown with the knowledge that teary goodbyes would always be a part of her life and she cursed the Witch-King and the war he was waging against the Dúnedain – her anger, however, was just her way to cope with her sadness. As for the twins, they were still young and they feared the world in which they'd leave would differ greatly from the one their parents had known. They also had always been the ones who took the prophecy most seriously and they often pondered about sorrowful about the fate of their people and the fate of their family.

And above everything, Fíriel feared for the life of her husband and though she was holding him in her arms, his face buried against her chest, it felt he was already gone. He was tall, he was strong, he had broad shoulders and his hands held the sword with confidence, yet he was just a man, and she was not sure the Witch-King could be defeated by a man, however valiant he was. Ponderings like this kept awake for the whole night, till dawn came.

Fíriel helped Arvedui dressing up – it was another of their little rituals. When he was ready, her hands lingered on his clothes, tracing the embroidery of his tunic and smoothing the folds of the fabric. She needed a few seconds to gather her thoughts and it was a heavy heart that she said:

"Arvedui, should you be unfortunate, should you… Arvedui, you are everything to me. I have no other family than you and our children, and no one knows my soul so well as you do. We have long years to live together still, many summers to see, many joys to share, thus, please, do not be too reckless and come back to me."

He looked down at her, deeply moved by her words, and exclaimed, "Oh, Fíriel! I told you long ago that being wedded to me meant that you would share my doom… I was a fool back then and now I only wish to have the strength to protect you, to protect our sons and daughter, and to spare you a life of misery. I shall fight, for you are most precious to me, and I shall do everything in my power to see you again and grow old by your side."

They had built their world around their four children, and they had come to rely heavily on one another – and only then did they realize how strong the bond between them had become.

"I love you," Fíriel told him, her voice shaking.

He hugged her tightly, like he had done every time she had complained about winter's cold, to which she had never really adjust, and like he had done every time she had been sad, thinking of her father and her brothers. Deep within, still there was this genuine desire to shelter her from all the hardships of the lives of Men, even though he knew he could never achieve such a thing.

"I love you, my dear Fíriel," he said, before kissing her one last time.

* * *

They did it well. They stood in line, straight and dignified, and the people of Fornost had come to admire them, and to watch their King depart. Over the years, they had rehearsed this scene many times, perhaps, subconsciously, they had always been aware this day would come. After all, the prophecy had been hanging above their heads for quite some time already.

Hopefully, everyone played their part well. Fíriel was a model of composure and, wearing proudly the colors of Arthedain, she was the embodiment of _quiet force_. Beside her, Aranarth was the one who drew most of the attention of the crowd, for he was tall and handsome like only a Dúnedain could be, and there were many in Fornost who were still convinced their crown prince should be inheriting both Arthedain and Gondor. Andúniel and the twins would only keep blurred memories of this day, for they'd recall only fragments of it: the banners floating in the air, the cries of the people when the troops marched through the city's gates, the resigned look on their father's face, as he had turned away from them. Yet they did not flinch, for never would they have disappointed him on such an important day.

Arvedui, _the last king_ , was determined to fight the Witch-King and his armies. The Dúnedain were vastly outnumbered, it was no secret, yet there was still a kingdom to protect and people to save from a horrible fate. He had a duty to fulfill and, truth was, he would do so proudly.

* * *

I checked the chronology and it is not very precise, but I am trying to follow it anyways. And to be honest, Fíriel is not exactly objective when it comes to Eärnil and she judges him too harshly. He was genuinely willing to help Arthedain, but was also facing "troubles of his own" thus his answer came a bit late.

Regarding the messengers, one month is quite a short amount of time to cover more than 1000 miles (so more than 1600km!) by horse. I suppose that up to Tharbad (which was still inhabited at the time) they could get fresh horses, but after that the next stop was Gondor (Rohan did not exist at the time and while Saruman was still a "good guy", I doubt he was getting involved directly in the affairs of Men). Anyhow, Arthedain had sent messengers already in 1974, but Gondor was late… so I'm assuming they were not using the palantíri at that time.


	20. A Desperate Flight

**Nanold** : Thank you! It's true I tend to left out supporting characters, that's mostly because I do not plan that much my stories. It sounds terrible if I say it this way, but usually I have a general idea of what's going to happen (and I know exactly how it's going to end), but I don't plan in details and just go with the flow. So, as the story goes, I end up focusing mostly on the main characters… I can't promise anything, but Aranarth and his siblings are very interesting, so they could have their own fic. That's why I'm trying to develop them more in this chapter (and the next).

* * *

 **Chapter 20 – A Desperate Flight**

"Those who can are leaving the city already and many of them are heading towards Bree and Tharbad," said chamberlain Cirion, who had spent the day at the gates of the city supervising the comings and goings of the people.

Aranarth was standing in front of a large window, overlooking the inner parts of Fornost, where markets were held almost every day of the year. It had been snowing all day, and now that night was falling, the houses and streets had turned white, but this sight did not please the prince – snow would not help the soldiers on the battlefield.

As Aranarth remained silent, just like his father would have in the same situation, the Chamberlain spoke again. "I do not believe Bree is safer than Fornost, yet the Witch-King will perhaps not go as far as Tharbad… The Grey Havens are still our best option."

"Perhaps…" said the prince. "However, the Witch-King seeks to destroy the Dúnedain's realm in the north. It is us, the men who came from Westernesse, he wants to defeat… If his armies get passed our lines, it is me and my family he will target, and thus he might neglect Bree and the other smaller settlements and head straight to the Grey Havens."

Chamberlain Cirion glanced at the map of Arthedain, that very same map Arvedui had been bending over not long ago. "It is always a relief to know we can rely on the Elves… It appears some of lord Elrond's people could make their way through Rhudaur and will be arriving here soon." His finger followed the east-west road, until his eyes landed on Baranduin river. "Ah, and the Halflings have sent a detachment of archers."

The Dúnedain could count on faithful allies, in the north, but it only reminded Aranarth that there had still been no word from Gondor. He could hardly conceive that King Eärnil had already forgotten about the alliance – were his promises so futile? And, after all, his mother was a princess of Gondor, he was himself the grandson of a king of Gondor, then how could their kin so blatantly ignore them, in time of need? He had been hopeful at first, he had been ready to excuse the tardiness of the Gondorians, yet now it was frustration and disappointment he felt.

"I wish the Gondorians would be as prompt to answer our calls as the Elves and the Halflings…"

Those were painful words to say, but Aranarth knew the chamberlain since he had been born and he had nothing to hide to him when it came to his opinions on his southern relatives.

"I must admit I myself am baffled by their silence," Cirion told the prince, bitterly. "Even with the help of the Elves, can we really hope to defeat Angmar?"

Aranarth did not bother to answer the chamberlain's question. He loathed to admit that, without the aid of Gondor, they stood little chance against their enemies, and he was about to grudgingly say so when his mother entered the room. Gazing at her, his heart sank in his chest, for she looked terribly tired and he knew she was also very anxious.

"Cirion, you deserve some rest," Fíriel said to the chamberlain. "I have seen you pacing around the gates all day, and tomorrow there shall be even more work to accomplish."

"What about you, Fíriel?"

"I barely can sleep at all these days, thus I have much time to devote to the protection of this city and its inhabitants."

"That explains these awful dark circles of yours…"

She smiled, but it was a smile filled with sadness. "Go back to your wife, she is waiting for you."

She and Cirion had become good friends over the years, especially after he had been wedded to Meldis. Their children had been raised together and they had learned to consider each other as just a queen and a chamberlain – long were gone those days during which Cirion had deemed the princess a snob Gondorian lady.

"As you wish, my Lady," the chamberlain nodded and, glancing at the map one last time, he exited the room, taking his leave from the queen and the prince.

He had perhaps been allowed to take his leave, yet Cirion was too preoccupied not to brood and his mind kept wandering back to the war. He was not a soldier – he did handle the sword with some talent, but his temper was that of an administrator and he was most valuable in the city, assisting Fíriel and her eldest son. However, while he understood his role was important, he did feel guilty for not having gone to battle with Arvedui this time.

The Dúnedain of the north could lose everything, should the forces Angmar defeat them, and so for once Cirion thought he'd be more useful wielding a sword, and not a pen.

* * *

Arvedui had been gone for two days, but to his children, it seemed like it had been a whole fortnight already. The four of them had their own duties to take care of, for Aranarth was commanding the troops that had remained in Fornost, while Andúniel and the twins worked with their mother, but when the sun set down, and the land became dark, the siblings found it hard not to let their fears crush them. Even Aranarth, who was a fully-grown man, caught himself seeking the advice of his mother more than usual, and he also felt more protective towards his younger brothers and sister. Thus, for the second evening in a row, he gathered them in his chambers, for he knew that, just like him, they had come to dislike the night.

"Father is strong, and so are is brothers-in-arms, but they are too few of them, and… the Witch-King, what sort of creature is he?" Artamir asked.

He was sitting on the floor, right in front the chimney for, like Fíriel, he was always cold, and his auburn hair seemed redder, as it was warmed up by the light of the flames.

"Elladan and Elrohir have alluded that he might be some sort of wraith," replied his elder brother, rubbing his chin.

"A wraith…?"

"They would not say more on the matter and, truth is, they seemed unsure themselves," Aranarth said, shrugging, and he sat down in his favorite armchair.

"Whether he is a man or a wraith, what does it matter now? He pursues destruction, this is what should be worrying us," said Andúniel, as coolly as she could.

Her three brothers glanced at each other, as if they were silently agreeing on something, and it was Faramir, the youngest of the twins, who told her:

"Andúniel, you could go to Gondor."

"Why would I go to Gondor?" she snapped back at him, immediately.

"Mother is Gondorian, she still has many friends there who would gladly welcome you," explained Aranarth.

Andúniel turned to him, frowning. "Tell me, why would I leave Arthedain?"

"You'd be safe in the south."

"I'd be miserable, far from you, far from Mother and Father."

"Mother could go with you."

Andúniel scoffed, crossing her arms on her chest. "Don't you know our mother at all? She will never go back to Gondor."

"We cannot rule out the possibility that she might go back there one day…" muttered Aranarth, his voice trailing.

"The day Father will be slain on the battlefield, perhaps? Is this what you are insinuating?" Andúniel finished for him. "I say, she will never go back there and I shall never set a foot in this kingdom either. And you three should stop making these ridiculous schemes behind my back."

"You are so stubborn, Andúniel…" Faramir complained, sighing.

He was the only one of the brothers who dared confront Andúniel and her fierce character.

"Would you leave Arthedain to go dwell in Gondor?"

Faramir shook his head slowly and he replied, "No, I suppose would not…"

Fíriel's children did not perceive themselves as being Gondorians and it was clear for them they were Dúnedain of the north, belonging to Arthedain. However, they had been raised by a princess from Gondor, who had told all them all sorts of stories about Minas Anor, the Citadel and the White Tree, and thus they had grown up dreaming about these faraway places – and it had become part of them. They were also keenly aware that, had not tragedy stroke some thirty years ago, they would have often traveled to the south, where they would have stayed there with their grandfather and with their uncles. Thus, they did not consider themselves Gondorians, yet they acknowledge the fact that they well could have been Gondorians.

"I doubt the king or the steward would be pleased to learn the sons of Fíriel are to dwell in Gondor, even for a short while," Artamir said and he was expressing aloud what they all thought.

"You don't believe we'd be seen as a threat, do you?" Artamir inquired, looking at Aranarth.

The eldest pouted, his brow furrowed – his resemblance to his father was striking when he did this. "There was a kin-strife in Gondor, when Castamir the Usurper rebelled against King Eldacar and though it has happened many years ago, the Gondorian lords still fear their realm might be torn apart by civil war. And, well… I suppose some lords would have remained loyal to Mother, whereas some others favor King Eärnil."

Like Fíriel, they did feel some resentment towards those who had denied them their rights on the crown, but their hearts were also filled with yearning for a kingdom they had never set their eyes upon. These thoughts filled their minds with wonder, yet once again, it was Andúniel who brought back her brothers to reality.

"You are talking as if Arthedain had already fallen, yet Father and his armies are still standing against Angmar. Gondor should come to us, and not the other way around."

"Do not be upset, Andúniel, for I would never seek to leave our lands, even if the Witch-King were to enslave us," Aranarth told her. "But you cannot blame me for thinking that you and Mother would be safer in Gondor than here."

"I hate to be so powerless and I would loathe to flee while knowing you'd be risking your lives here…" Andúniel said in muffled voice, barely holding back her tears.

Faramir, who was sitting by her side, took one of her hands in his, and he laid his head on her shoulder. Like Aranarth and Artamir, he'd promise his sister to keep her safe, at all cost, but he knew this was not what she wanted to hear, and also that such a thing might be beyond his power.

"Would that Gondor hear call soon…" Aranarth muttered and his younger siblings nodded, silently.

* * *

Fíriel was neglecting the greenhouses ever since Arvedui had left Fornost. Organizing the defense of the fortress was quite time consuming and, whenever she could spare a few minutes, she'd go on the walls to gaze at the north. There were no signs of war, yet the blowing wind was cold, as it always was when the Witch-King was marching against the Dúnedain, and no matter how many furs she wore, Fíriel shivered.

She had a keen sight, like most of those who descended from Númenóreans, but the battlefield was too far for her to see and she could only pray Arvedui was safe. His absence was hard to endure and she had noticed that her children, even though they were aged from 20 to 32, sought her presence more than often. Even Aranarth, her tall and handsome son, tended to turn to her whenever he had to take a decision that was not related to the military and, although he had not said a word about it, she knew he felt he was not quite ready to assume all of his father's responsibilities – it seemed he had yet so much to learn.

Thus, mother and son were often seen together in the King's halls and they were both in the courtyard, talking with carpenters and masons, when the warden of the palantíri came to them unannounced. It had been three days since Arvedui had left Fornost and they had been monitoring the Stones closely ever since.

"Your Highness, my Lord, the Gondorians have finally answered our calls," he announced, frantic.

"Have they?" exclaimed Fíriel and Aranarth at once.

"King Eärnil himself shall hear your plea, as soon as you are ready to follow me."

"How gracious of him." Fíriel muttered under her breath – even her son did no catch that.

"Then we should hurry, for sadly we have no time to lose."

And hurry they did, ascending swiftly the stairs of the tower where the stones were stored, and they were restless when they waited for King Eärnil to appear in the palantír.

 _"_ _Lady Fíriel, lord Aranarth, do forgive me for having delayed my answer to your call. I am afraid we have troubles of our own in Gondor."_

It was the first time Fíriel was talking to King Eärnil ever since he had been crowned, yet they had been acquainted, when she had still been dwelling in Gondor.

 _"_ _If there is anything I have learned over the years, it is that our enemies tend to strike at the same time to weaken us further."_

And it was her only intervention in this discussion, for she deemed Aranarth would handle the matter with more ease than she would.

 _"_ _Apparently… Nonetheless I will help you, for I have not forgotten our alliance, and my son, Eärnur, shall head to Arthedain. It is but a small contingent I can send, yet they will sail from Pelargir as soon as possible."_

 _"_ _I thank you, Your Highness, for we are in dire need of more troops... I am afraid this time Angmar has gathered great forces."_

 _"_ _I understand your realm is in grave danger. Do be assured I shall do my best to assist you."_

 _"_ _Your help is greatly appreciated, Your Majesty."_

 _"_ _I have not had the pleasure to meet your father in person, prince Aranarth, but oft we have discussed, through the Stones, and I know he is a valiant man. Gondor shall not let him down, in these dark times."_

 _"_ _It is a relief the Dúnedain can still stand together against their enemies."_

 _"_ _Indeed. I do hope our concerted efforts will lead us to victory."_

King Eärnil did not say much more, for his son would be the one devising strategic plans, upon his arrival in the Grey Havens, and he excused himself rather quickly, yet this short conversation had given Aranarth renewed fervor. For him, the arrival of the Gondorian help would be a decisive turn in the war against Angmar – after all, was it not the first time the forces of the north and the south would fight battles jointly? It did make the prince feel optimistic, for the first time in many months, although he could not quite forget the prophecy that had been pronounced at the birth of his father.

"The King said he could not spare many men, will it be enough?" Aranarth inquired, wondering if a _small contingent_ would be a sufficient force to deal with the Witch-King.

"What is a mediocre force to him will be a considerable asset for us. Thousands and thousands of men fight under the banners of Gondor and, if the King has trust his own son to lead the troops he will send us, then it is a sure sign he truly wishes to aid us."

The might of Gondor was something Aranarth pondered over a lot, although he pretended otherwise, and he could not help but think of what would have happened, had his parents convinced the High Council to hand them the crown. He did not crave for power, nor did he not long to rule two kingdoms, yet he wanted to defeat Angmar and he was painfully aware that Arthedain lacked the men to do so.

"I wish we could have talked to the prince as well…" he said.

Eärnur was, after all, his Gondorian counterpart, as well as a distant cousin, and he was curious about him.

"I do too," said Fíriel, "yet if his father's prowess is any indication, then Eärnur surely is skilled general."

Her opinion of King Eärnil was ambivalent, to say the least. There was resentment, still after all those years, but she had not forgotten he was also the man who had avenged her father and her brothers. Perhaps she could not convince herself he was the rightful king of Gondor, however she did have great respect for his deeds on the battlefield and she trusted him to aid Arthedain now that he had contacted them.

* * *

For a few hours, it seemed the tide had turned in their favour, and that perhaps Arthedain would withstand the assault of the Witch-King. They had little time ahead of them, yet they were hopeful they would be able to hold Fornost till the Gondorians arrived in the Grey Havens. Furthermore, Elves from Rivendell had finally reached Fornost and among them were the sons of lord Elrond, who had fought many battles alongside the Dúnedain, and lord Glorfindel, one of those rare High-Elves who still dwelled in Middle-earth. Their sight alone was enough to hearten the most pessimistic ones and the news that Gondor would sent troops had spread fast in the city and its surroundings. Finally, the people of Fornost did not feel anymore that they had been forgotten by their allies and the flow of those who were leaving the fortress thinned for a while.

Alas, in the evening, messengers arrived from the front lines and they brought terrible tidings. The men were weary and a bit haggard and they were promptly admitted in the council room, where Fíriel, Aranarth and the chamberlain Cirion were waiting for them.

"We were crushed, Your Highness… There are so many of them, men, orcs, and other foul creatures, that even if women and children could fight, there would still be not enough of us to defend the realm. Our lines have broken and the enemy's troops are marching down here… No obstacle lies between them and this fortress… People barely have time to flee."

"What of our soldiers? What has happened to my husband?" Fíriel inquired, her face so pale that she had turned white as snow.

"They have retreated and they are coming this way."

"They are coming back to Fornost?" exclaimed Aranarth and, oddly enough, he found he was glad he'd see his father soon.

"Yes, my Lord, however they will be closely followed by our enemies… and the King urges you to evacuate the city before it is assaulted by the Witch-King."

"Is that so?" murmured the prince, crestfallen.

One of the messenger handed a small folded piece of paper to Aranarth: it was a three sentences letter, very typical of Arvedui. In other circumstances, it would have been very amusing to read, but the prince's face was hard when he looked down at the words his father had written.

 _"_ _Fíriel, do not tarry in Fornost and take the road to the west, for you and the children will be safe in the Grey Havens. I shall try to hold the fortress as long as it takes for the Gondorians to reach Arthedain. Aranarth, my dear son, do not wait for me – flee."_

* * *

It was a long procession, that stretched from the heart of the city to the first miles of the north-south road. Men, women, children, rich or poor, old or young, they all had gathered as much of their belongings as they could carry, and they were leaving Fornost, in misery. Whatever hope had fluttered in their hearts, hours ago, was gone.

Fíriel, Aranarth and the chamberlain Cirion stood on the walls, watching this flow of people, and they felt so gloomy that even the cold bite of the northern wind left them indifferent.

"Some have refused to flee," said Fíriel, heaving a sigh.

"It is their home, they won't surrender it so easily," Cirion told her and he was himself full of resolve. "I shall stay as well…"

"But Cirion…" Aranarth protested.

"Someone has to welcome back the King in his halls and… I might not be the hardiest of men, but I surely can lend our soldiers a hand, when the time comes."

"Have you told Meldis…?" Fíriel muttered, clasping her hands together.

The chamberlain nodded, "Yes."

"I will make sure that anyone who wish to leave can do so. As for you, Fíriel, Aranarth, it is time you ride to the Grey Havens – I believe it is what our King ordered you to do."

* * *

During her first months in the north, Fíriel would have never imagined that one day she would be grieved to leave Fornost, but there were tears in her eyes when she passed the fortress' gates. Yet her sorrow was small compared to that of her children, for they were leaving behind their whole lives, everything they had ever known and loved, and they though they were also abandoning their father to a dark fate.

Aranarth, especially, loathed to abide the King's orders. But he knew he had his own mission to fulfill and he carried with him the heirlooms of his house: the Star of Elendil, which Fíriel had handed to him, and the shards of Narsil and the scepter of Annúminas, for Arvedui had entrusted their safeguard to him. Only the ring of Barahir was missing, as it was still on his father's forefinger, and the prince dearly hoped he would not inherit it anytime soon.


	21. A Dark Fate

We're coming close to the end. A sad, bitter end…

* * *

 **Chapter 21 – A Dark Fate**

Arvedui wished he would have come back in Fornost under completely different circumstances.

The Dúnedain had been utterly defeated on the plains and his last hope was to hold the fortress long enough for Gondorian reinforcements to arrive. He and his captains had been speculating on how much time it would take the troops King Eärnil was sending to reach the Grey Havens, and then Fornost. He feared they had been far too optimistic, believing everything would be done within a fortnight, for they'd have to brace themselves and withstand a long siege.

During his absence, Fornost had become a ghost city, almost entirely emptied of its inhabitants, and everywhere there were traces of the hastiness with which the people had fled. The doors of some houses were wide-opened, carts had been abandoned on the streets and dogs wandered, in search of food. Thus, when he entered his halls, Arvedui was surprised to see fires burn in the hearths and he wondered who among his servants had stayed behind – he just hoped Aranarth was not there. He was not left pondering long, for chamberlain Cirion quickly appeared in front of him and, though he was visibly exhausted, he seemed to be in a good mood.

"Cirion, I did not expect to find you here!" Arvedui exclaimed, as a smile spread on his face.

The King was himself a dreadful sight to see. He had been gone for just a few days, but it seemed he was coming back from a long journey. His hair and beard were disheveled, there was mud on his clothes and his hands were red with chilblains, but he deemed himself to be lucky enough to be yet alive – he had seen many fall on the battlefield.

"Someone had to make sure fire was blazing in the chimneys upon your return," said Cirion and he too was smiling. "And well, I was not alone, for the people of Elrond have been keeping me company."

"Have they?"

"Yes, they have been here for two days and already they have helped us tremendously. For the most part, we have been fortifying the walls, but there were also a few skirmishes…"

"How did evacuation go?" Arvedui inquired.

"As well as possible…" Cirion replied briefly and he thought he could bore the King with the details later. "I did have to give your wife and your children a little push."

Arvedui shrugged. "What about your family?"

"Hopefully, they are with yours, in the Grey Havens."

"I thank you for having stayed here, Cirion."

"It is my duty to serve you as best as I can," said the chamberlain, earnestly.

"Then perhaps you could go see the men who have come back with me, for many have been injured and need to be taken care of."

"I shall go at once."

After that, Arvedui could not help but stay awhile in his halls, even though there was nothing there to do. He did go into his chambers, that Fíriel had left not long ago, but he did not linger there, for it felt eerily empty and, after having checked his children's rooms, and his parents', he decided he would settle in the barracks with his men. But before joining the soldiers, he went to greet his guest of honours, the envoys of lord Elrond.

Arvedui found Elladan, Elrohir and lord Glorfindel up on the walls, the three of them gazing at the north. It did gladden his heart to see them, so tall and noble, and some of his weariness vanished when they turned to him.

"Lord Elrond never fails to send us aid in time of need, and once more you are standing by my side, when all seems lost," he said to Elladan and Elrohir, embracing them warmly.

The twins had been riding with him ever since he had become of age and it truly felt like they were his kinsmen – and in a sense, that was what they were.

"It is ever an honor to fight by your side, Arvedui," Elladan said.

"I am afraid this time there are too few of us and to many of them, perhaps you should have stayed in your evergreen vale," Arvedui told them and he could hardly restrain the bitterness in his tone

"We fight for all the free people," said Elrohir, giving the King's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"And what poor allies would we be, should we only come when victory is assured," added lord Glorfindel.

Without the manpower of the Gondorians, Arvedui could hardly imagine he would be able to vanquish the armies of Angmar, yet these three Elves did remind him he was not alone. And even as he was facing the destruction of his realm, he felt strangely reassured in the presence of lord Glorfindel, for the light in his eyes ever shone brightly.

"Then, my Lords, if you are ready, let us discuss strategy," announced Arvedui. "These ramparts are sturdy and high, but they are only as solid as the men who defend them."

And he glanced at the north, where the horizon was darkening – the host of the Angmar was not far.

* * *

Mere hours after Arvedui's returns, the land between the North Downs and lake Evendim was covered with orcs, trolls and men the Witch-King had seduced with lies and deceptions. There were thousands of them, slowly marching on the plains, stomping on the snow, setting afire trees and houses as they advanced. Black smoke rose here and there, the bright white of winter turning into a gloomy grey, and as the wind blew from the north, it carried the sound of the enemies' drums, as well as the echo of an eerie laughter that send a chill down the spine of every men who heard it.

Around midnight, Fornost was encircled and the Dúnedain, along with the Halflings, sent the first volley of arrows, clearing the ranks of the enemy. But those who fell were replaced, and more even came, swarming at the base of the walls, and soon ladders were brought. Most of those who dared climb them were shot before reaching their goal and while their attempts were vain, it did greatly tire the men inside Fornost. They fought relentlessly all night long, and when the Sun rose, the armies of Angmar withdrew, for these creatures hated the light.

They held Fornost for days, repelling the enemy at night and cleaning their wounds during the day. Sentinels kept a watch on the east road, hoping to see the banners of Gondor, but no one came that way. Arvedui regularly went to in the tower where the palantíri were stored, trying to contact King Eärnil, but never was there anyone to answer his calls. And when their forces started to dwindle, the Witch-King brought forth battering rams and catapults. The main gate was assaulted twice and each time the Dúnedain and their allies managed to hold their position, but they knew they'd probably not resist a third charge of the enemies. Thus, it was decided they would try to make a sortie and flee towards the Grey Havens, for it had become obvious they would be unable to hold Fornost much longer. Arvedui took the palantíri with him, which was almost like admitting he had lost this war already, but he could not risk losing the stones to the Witch-King.

They left at dawn, when the armies of Angmar were weakest, yet it was a tough battle they fought. Arvedui and his close guard were quickly surrounded and separated from the rest of his small host. The men fought hard to breach through the armies of Orcs and it was only after too many of them had been slain that the King and his companions could escape. The way to the south was barred, for the forces of Angmar had reacted quickly to the attack and spread all over the plain once more. Thus, they rode farther north, passing the Emyn Uial, and then they pushed to the Ered Luin, where they hoped to hide in some old abandoned Dwarven barrows. Arvedui knew it was not the ideal place to spend the remaining of winter, yet he had to face the fact that he had been utterly defeated by the Witch-King and that going back to Fornost was absolutely out of question – that was, if the fortress stood still.

It was a long and dangerous venture they undertook and, by the time they reached the Blue Mountains, they were famished and several of their horses had perished. They did find a mine where they could take refuge, but for how long? The land there was barren, covered by several feet of snow, and never had the Dúnedain to endure a cold so bitter. There simply was no food for them to find, no animal they could hunt, no plant they could pick, and, as a last resort, they had to eat the last of their horses, those few that had survived the journey, but that were too weak to carry them to Grey Havens. And as they realized they would soon die of hunger themselves, Arvedui decided they should explore their surroundings and seek the Lossoth, the Snowmen, who, they believed, dwelled along the shores of Cape Forochel.

They found their camp at the base of the mountains and the sight of their snow houses was puzzling to the Dúnedain, who only knew the Lossoth through stories of hardy travelers. As they advanced to the settlement, it became obvious they had nothing to fear of the Snowmen, on the contrary, they were the ones who looked threatening. Those tall gaunt strangers, with their shining mails and long swords, were a worrisome sight to the Lossoth who did not themselves possess any weapons and who rarely had dealings with other folks. Thus, women and children swiftly fled into their dwellings and only a handful of men were brave enough to step forwards and to meet Arvedui and his companions

None spoke Sindarin and few knew enough Westron to effectively communicate with the newcomers, yet their leader stepped forward, greeting the Dúnedain.

"War is raging in Arthedain and our troops have been defeated by a great host the Witch-King has gathered," Arvedui explained to them, slowly, and as he said 'Witch-King' the Lossoth all shuddered. "We had to flee, yet we could not go any other way than northward and we were not prepared for such a journey. We have been hiding in a Dwarven mine, in the mountains, however we have no more food, nor any mean to find some…"

In the end, the Lossoth heard his plea and agreed to help him, rather begrudgingly. Most of them feared the weapons of the Dúnedain, although Arvedui had sworn he and his men would not harm their rescuers. But some took pity on these strangers and they did their best to teach them their ways of life.

* * *

Arvedui and his companions spent weeks in Forochel, waiting for the weather to warm up and for aid to come from the south. Those days were difficult, in part because they had to adapt to the harsh living conditions of the Lossoth, but mostly because they were cut from Eriador, isolated as they were in the Northern Waste. Arvedui was often seen brooding, as he walked slowly by the bay, and his mind was filled with worries about his kingdom, his people and his family. For him, the prophecy that had been pronounced at the time of his birth had been fulfilled, at last, for if Arthedain had been completely wiped off by the armies of Angmar, then there was no kingdom his son could inherit. His own helplessness ashamed him, and many times he cursed the Witch-King, vowing to take revenge against him and to slain him with his own hands.

And whenever he thought of his wife and of his children, and of his poor mother who was too old to go through such a terrible ordeal, his heart sank his chest. If anything were to happen to them while he was stuck in Forochel, he'd never forgive himself… It was hard to chase away these sinister thoughts, and so, like his men, he did his best keep himself busy. Learning how to survive in a cold environment such as the Northern Waste greatly distracted the Dúnedain and the first few times they went ice fishing were quite the adventure.

"I never imagined my first battle would lead me so far from home," said Cirion, who was stepping carefully on the ice, unsure it could support his weight.

The Lossoth had promised them the ice was a solid as firm ground, yet the chamberlain felt wary of it.

"We have strayed a strange way," Arvedui told him, "yet we were lucky to stumble upon these unexpected allies."

He moved with more ease than the chamberlain and he barely slipped as he was following the Lossoth.

"Most of them would rather have us leave soon," whispered Cirion, frowning.

"Indeed, but they will tolerate our presence till spring comes and for that we should be thankful. Without them, we would have starved to death in those mines…" Arvedui reminded him.

"I suppose… I muse however confess that all this waiting is killing me, slowly, but surely…"

"I do loathe myself for being so powerless…"

And they said no more about this that day, for they soon learned that ice fishing was a subtle art and that it required great amount of patience. Truth was, at the first the Dúnedain felt sceptical any fish could dwell in such cold waters and it crossed the mind of some that the Lossoth might be mocking them, somehow – till they finally managed to catch a fish.

* * *

Winter lasted long that year, preventing ships to reach the icy bay, and it was not likely an expedition would come through the land either. Thus, it was at the beginning of march when finally they saw the sail of a boat lord Círdan has sent to rescue them, after the whereabouts of the King had reached Mithlond. For the Dúnedain, it was the end of a nightmare, although the mariners of Círdan did not bring good tidings with them. While they had been staying in Forochel, Arthedain had fallen and now the Witch-King held Fornost, dwelling in the King's halls, and ruling over Eriador as if it had always been his.

"What of the Gondorians? Have they not come to our aid?" inquired Arvedui, abashed.

"We have departed from the Havens a fortnight ago, and at the time, there had been no sign of Gondor," the Elves told him.

It was a shock for Arvedui, whose hope had been that the troops sent by King Eärnil had reached the north while he was in Forochel. Yet if the Gondorians had been delayed, it meant the remaining Dúnedain of Arthedain would be unable to counterattack Angmar and reclaim their lands – too few of his people had survived the invasion. He also feared Gondor had been assaulted once more by the Wainriders and their allies, just like it had happened thirty years ago…

"What of my family?"

"Your wife, your sons and your daughter have taken refuge in Mithlond, along with those who could escape Fornost," said the captain of the ship. "It was lord Aranarth who informed lord Círdan of your current situation, thus he sent us to rescue you."

Relief washed through Arvedui – at the very least, he did not have to worry about his loved ones, for the time being.

"Then we cannot tarry here any longer… How soon could we sail?"

"How soon could you and your companions be ready?"

That question could easily be answered: the Dúnedain had be ready to leave ever since they had arrived in the Northern Waste.

* * *

The Elves and the Lossoth did not meet. The people of Círdan did not disembark their boat and the Snowmen stayed far from it, on the bank, for they were afraid of this great wooden engine that could float on the ocean. They could hardly fathom such a mean of transportation existed and, for them, the Elves were creatures of legends, and they feared them like they feared the Dúnedain.

Arvedui and his men were eager to put behind them the icy bay and the winds seemed to be in their favor, thus the mariners of Círdan suggested to leave at dawn, the next day. That last night in Forochel passed by quickly and the boarding was not long, for the Dúnedain had few belongings with them – although Arvedui did carry the palantíri. When they were set, their hearts filled with appeasement at the mere thought of leaving this cursed ice, Arvedui returned one last time in the village of the Lossoth, to express his gratefulness at the help they had provided them over the last months.

"The winds have picked, thus we will depart soon," the King said to the chieftain. "Yet I cannot leave without thanking you and your people for your hospitality."

The Snowman's reaction to these words was not, however, what Arvedui had expected.

"Do not mount on this sea-monster!" he warned the King of Arthedain, pointing a trembling finger at the ship. "If they have them, let the seamen bring us food and other things that we need, and you may stay here till the Witch-King goes home. For in summer his power wanes; but now his breath is deadly, and his old arm is long."

Arvedui knew the chieftain meant good, but he chose not to heed his counsel. His sojourn among the Lossoth had taught him that they were a superstitious people and that they lacked the refinement of his own civilization – they were afraid of anything they did not understand. Nonetheless, he would not be ungrateful and he was resolved to repay his debt to the Lossoth as best as he could, thus he had decided only his ring could repay properly the Lossoth.

"This is a thing of worth beyond your reckoning. For its ancientry alone. It has no power, save the esteem in which those hold it who love my house. It will not help you, but if ever you are in need, my kin will ransom it with great store of all that you desire."

And with that, he parted from the Lossoth and embarked on the Elven ship.

* * *

Whether it was luck or foresight, no one ever knew. Yet, not long after they had sailed, the winds changed and a storm rose, coming from the north. Such was its power that even the mariners of lord Círdan, as experienced as they were, could hardly keep control of their ship. The captain's orders were heard till the very end, his powerful voice cutting through the howls of the wind, but nothing he said, nothing his crew did could save them from their fate.

Arvedui saw the icebergs and mere seconds after, he heard a terrible sound – the hull of the ship was fractured. He understood it was the end, not only for him, but for his companions, for the Elves that rescued them, and for his kingdom as well.

He held the palantíri close to him, till he drew his last breath. Among many things, it crossed his mind it was unfortunate the stones would sink with him to the bottom of the ocean. He also thought of his father, whose worst fears had all become true, and he thought of his mother, who would outlive her son. He thought of Fíriel, whom he had failed to protect, and he thought of Aranarth, who would inherit nothing from him, but tears and ashes. And he thought of Andúniel, Artamir and Faramir, and of how short his time with them had been, whom he loved so dearly.

Then, he closed his eyes, and the shipwreck seemed a faraway thing, as life escaped his body.

He died a bitter soul.

 _Arvedui you shall call him, for he will be the last in Arthedain,_ had said the Seer.

* * *

The dialogue between Arvedui and the chief of the Lossoth was taken in the Appendix A of _The Return of the King_. I tried to follow the line of events as best as I could, but I did change a few things or took some (hopefully) educated guesses. It's not clear when Glorfindel reached the Grey havens, but Fornost being right between there and Rivendell, he could have stopped there and then retreat to Mithlond (while Arvedui fled north). It also says nowhere that Elladan and Elrohir took part in these battles, but it seems plausible they did (I like to think that they fought many battles alongside the Dúnedain of the north, which is partly confirmed in the books).

Ah, and the Gondorians really came too late.

And I apologize for the horse eating part, I do love horses very much but it was a life or death situation!


	22. A Bittersweet Victory

This chapter was quite laborious to write (even though I had made a detailed plan!) so excuse me any typos or inconsistencies...

The next chapter (23) will be the last. I wished I would finish on nice round number, but it won't happen.

* * *

 **Chapter 22 – A Bittersweet Victory**

In the Grey Havens, those who had fled from Fornost, were warmly welcomed by lord Círdan and his people and there they could find small solace, amidst the disasters of the war. This respite was short, however, and soon came the news that the Witch-King had unleashed another attack on the Dúnedain, in the plain between the North Downs and lake Evendim, and that this time he would likely take Fornost. And it was days after they had arrived, remnants of the survivors of the siege came, and among them were the sons of Elrond and lord Glorfindel, as they had lead the contingent to safety – Arvedui and his closest companions were nowhere to be seen.

"Where is my father?" inquired Aranarth, alarmed.

"We believe the King fled north, with some of his guard, for he was able to break through the lines of the enemy," Elladan explained.

"Yet we had hoped to find him here," admitted Elrohir.

Aranarth felt dismay overwhelmed him as he exclaimed:

"To the north? Could he perhaps be hiding in the Emyn Uial, above the lake?"

"We know not, Lord Aranarth," replied lord Glorfindel. "I'm afraid the situation was rather confusing on the battlefield and, as hard as we tried, we could not reach the King… He was clearly being targeted by the forces of Angmar."

The prince shook his head, out of disbelief. "It would be too risky to send scouts for the time being…" And, bracing himself, he added "And Fornost…?"

"The city has sustained heavy damages and it was taken by the enemy," announced the Elves. "It seems the Witch-King himself has set his throne there."

"Then, we can only hope the Gondorians have not forgotten our call for aid," whispered Aranarth, as he followed the Elven lords, on their way to meet with lord Círdan.

Later, he reported these terrible tidings to his siblings, but to his mother, he spared a few details, out of worry for her. Fíriel had changed, since they were in Mithlond, and it seemed a spark within her was extinct. It gave her eldest son great concerns, for it was like he was seeing her as if he did not know her, and he had suddenly realized she was small, frail and weary. She was sad also, immensely sad, for she was still young, yet she had outlived so many of her loved ones and she had seen so many others suffer and die. And she was scared, although she pretended otherwise, and, if for her sake only, Aranarth truly hoped his father would make it back alive to them.

"Take care of Mother," he bade his younger siblings, "and I shall take of the Dúnedain while Father is gone."

Strange days they spent by the sea, waiting to hear from Arvedui, waiting for the Gondorians to come, waiting for winter to end. There was nothing to do but help the Elves organizing the defense of the havens and to welcome those few men and women who had managed to escape the Witch-King's hold and make their way to the west.

It was in February that travelers carried with them word that Arvedui had found refuge in the ice bay, among the Lossoth, and that it was impossible for him to head to the havens, for all his horses had died. An expedition throughout the land was out of question at this time of the year and so Aranarth pleaded lord Círdan to send one of his ships to the north, for it was the fastest way to reach the bay of Forochel. Mariners sailed to the north quickly, carrying with them the Dúnedain's hope to have their King returned to them safely, yet it would take several weeks before the fate of this crew and its passengers was known to all.

* * *

In early March, dozens and dozens of white sails appeared at the horizons and soon the Gulf of Lhûn was covered with Gondorian ships. A clamor of happiness and relief rose among the Men and the Elves as they beheld the massive fleet of the Gondor had sent, and they marveled at the might of the south. Reinforcements had come at last, in greater numbers than everything that had been expected, for the boats filled completely the three harbors of Lindon, and hope sparked again in the heart of the people of Arthedain.

Aranarth understood what his mother had meant, when she had told him a 'small force' would already be a great help to them, and for a moment he was bitter, for Arthedain would surely not have been swiped out so quickly by Angmar, had the Gondorians arrived earlier. But he had no time to be sorry for himself, and for his people, and as he prepared to greet prince Eärnur, he thought that, at least, these troops were sufficient to take revenge on the Witch-King and probably defeat him once and for all.

Eärnur was tall, eyes fierce and hands strong, and he was a man like there were barely any left in the north. The blood of Westernesse flew in his veins and he could have as well come from the island itself, for such was his strength of body and mind, and he did manage to impress even the Elves. Truth was, Aranarth was a bit anxious to meet him but, beside him, his mother remained completely unfazed, for she had known lords far more admirable than the son of King Eärnil, and among them had been her own brothers. She also thought her son had no reason to envy this prince, as he was himself a valiant young man and twice the descendant of Elendil – but she kept these ponderings to herself.

"Lord Eärnur," greeted Aranarth. "On my father's behalf, I thank you for having come to our aid in this dark hour."

"Dúnedain should stand united against their enemies," said Eärnur and, as he was not a man to embarrass himself with cumbersome speeches, he lost no time inquiring about the state of Arthedain. "We came late and your kingdom has been invaded already… Pardon me for inquiring so bluntly, but where is the King?"

"We have every reason to believe he has taken refuge in the bay of Forochel, after having fled from the armies of Angmar. Lord Círdan sent a boat to rescue him, a little more than a fortnight ago, but it has yet to return."

"So it is… Unfortunately, there were a few attacks in the south of Gondor and around Pelargir, hence we were delayed," said Eärnur, who felt he should justify the slowness with which Gondor had react to the call of help of their allies.

It was at that moment that the Gondorian prince's gaze fell on Fíriel, who had so far remained silent, a step behind her son.

"Lady Fíriel, Your Majesty, I never imagined we would meet again in such tragic circumstances," Eärnur told her, bowing briefly.

"You have come, lord Eärnur, you have honoured the alliance and for that you have my gratitude," she replied.

He nodded and said, "Well, I have only done half of what I was bid to do. We have landed in the north, but we have yet to partake in this war."

The Gondorian prince was a restless young man, eager to prove himself on the battlefield, and he had had enough of greetings and curtsies. Thus, he cut short the courtesy talk and, together with Aranarth and the Elven lords, he called for a war council – he wished to ride against the Witch-King as soon as possible.

* * *

The deployment of the Gondorian army was a wonderful display of power, and it was also a heartening one, and none could doubt that they would be victorious against Angmar. Aranarth, leading the remnants of the northern forces, rode with Eärnur, resolved as he was to take revenge on the Witch-King, and he looked so fair and so fierce, clad in his bright mithril mail, that Fíriel forgot to worry about him. Part of him wished he would have lead a host as formidable as Eärnur's – part of him knew he could have been in the Gondorian prince's shoes – but he cast aside these thoughts to focus on war.

The clash was violent on the battlefield, for the enemy had been expecting them, yet the might of Gondor was such that soon the Orcs fled before the Dúnedain who pursued them on the plains and towards the east, to where the Witch-King and his crumbling forces were fleeing. It was a small host lead by lord Glorfindel that managed to block this escape and Eärnur, the fiercest of all warriors, saw the opportunity to put an end to the threat of Angmar. He meant to chase after the Witch-King, to slain him, and, doing so, he did not seek glory – he simply followed his instinct as a soldier.

However mighty and strong-willed the Gondorian prince was, he was unable to come near the Witch-King, whose darkness frightened his steed. Eärnur should have then understood that the ruler of Angmar was not mere mortal, that he was a creature of the shadows, but he was reckless, and he did all could to calm his horse and ride towards his enemy. In the end, it was lord Glorfindel who came to him to convince him it was useless to attempt to kill the Witch-King. "Not by the hand of men shall he fall," were his exact words, but Eärnur, although he reluctantly let the enemy go, soon forgot what the Elven lord had told him – and, one day, it would not only cost him his life, but it'd cost Gondor his last king.

* * *

It was a bittersweet victory for the people of Arthedain. On the one hand, the alliance with Gondor had proven to be fruitful and the armies of the Witch-King had been utterly defeated, on the other hand, it had all come too late and the kingdom was left ruins. Fornost had been sacked and, as for the casualties, all that could be said was that the Dúnedain had almost gone extinct in the north and the other folks would need years to recover from this invasion.

The final blow came when the troops were marching back to Mithlond, for they encountered men who had wandered north, men who brought an important message from the Lossoth. The ship sent by lord Círdan had indeed reached the ice bay and Arvedui and his companions had embarked on it, as planned. But, alas, a storm had rose not long after and, however skilled the Elven mariners had been, they had been unable to avoid the shipwreck – all aboard had perished.

What could the people of Arthedain do, without a realm, without a king?

Aranarth was, of course, the most afflicted of them all and, riding back to the Grey Havens, it felt like he had lost the war – and in a sense, it was what had happened. He lamented that his father had died so abruptly, vanquished by the winds of winter, and he loathed that he should be the bearer of such a grievous news for his mother and his siblings. Yet he had become the head of the family and he had to assume his new duties, even though it broke his heart.

"What is it, Aranarth? Are you not proud to have defeated our enemy?" Fíriel asked upon seeing her eldest son's defeated face.

"Mother…" he muttered and then he glanced at his sister and his brothers. "Andúniel, Artamir, Faramir… Word came from the Lossoth, they have witnessed what has happened to ship lord Círdan has sent in the north to find Father… It has sunk… It sank when Father was aboard, on his way back here, and there were no survivors."

"What…?" Fíriel gasped, feeling dizzy.

"Father is dead," Aranarth declared and he could not suppress the tremolo in his voice.

Fíriel saw tears filled her eldest son's eyes and she let out a wail, struck as she was by grief. Everything that happened in the minutes that followed this announcement became a very blurry memory that she would seldom summon afterwards. Somewhere behind her, Queen Gilwen almost collapsed and Faramir caught her, helping her on a seat, and he sat beside her, weeping in silence. Artamir had looked around, confuse for a few seconds, as if he was expecting to see his father enter the room and tell them it was all a misunderstanding, but then realization sank in and he walked to Aranarth, who, unable to speak anymore, wrapped his arms around him. As for Fíriel, in the confusion of the moment, she managed to hug her daughter, gently rubbing her back as Andúniel sobbed on her shoulder, but she could find no words to comfort her and she was herself in a state of utter misery. For how long did it last, she would have been unable to recall.

The family spent the night together, mourning. There was no body to bury, but the Elves sang beautiful songs for the dead and they also sang one for the last King. Hearing their clear voices and their sad melody, Fíriel found her last barriers shattering and she cried, bitterly. Oh, it had always been in Gondor's power to vanquish Angmar, she had known it, and Arvedui too – if it had not been for the quarrels after her father and her brothers' death! Alas, the Gondorians had not heed the words of the Seer and her husband had died, leaving behind him the ghost of realm that had once been thriving.

* * *

Past the first shock, Fíriel retired in her rooms for days and the twins stayed with her for the most part. Although they were almost men, for they would soon celebrate their 21st birthday, they were still the youngest children Fíriel and Arvedui had had and their father's sudden passing left them with an overwhelming sense of loss. They were not prepared for his death, even though the shadows of war had been looming over their heads for years, and they had never seriously thought their father would be taken away from them so early in their lives. Thus, they were truly dumbfounded and they felt they could not leave their mother's side, not for now.

Andúniel's reaction differed from the twins'. She had wept profusely at first – Fíriel's dress had been drench with her daughter's tears – yet, after some time, she had gone for a walk and had found refuge in a small creek, not far from the haven. She wished to be alone – that was how she usually dealt with difficulties. She gazed at the sea for hours, seeking comfort in the endless spectacle of the waves crushing against the cliffs and of the seagulls circling in the grey sky, yet it dawned upon that it was this very same body of water that had engulfed her father and claimed his life. And there she was, not sure if she'd forgive the winds and the ice for having cause this terrible shipwreck… She had often feared Arvedui would be slain on the battlefield, however she had never imagined he would drown and, beyond her pain, this notion greatly annoyed her.

"There you are, princess. Your mother and brothers were starting to worry about you."

Andúniel turned around, although she did not bother to get up – she knew someone would eventually come disturb her tormented contemplation of the ocean.

"I meant not to cause them a fright, lord Elladan, I simply needed to be alone," she explained, her voice hoarse.

She was acquainted with the sons of lord Elrond, for they had gone to Fornost on several occasions, while she had also visited Imladris, yet it felt strange that one of them should walk on her when she was so distressed. Her eyes were puffy, her features were drawn with sorrow and she thought she must have been quite a dreadful sight to one used to the beauties of the Elven lives. Elladan did not seem to notice the pitiful state she was in, however, and his sparkling grey gaze was set on the sea.

"Your father was a good man and a valiant warrior," he said and then he paused. "I shall miss him sorely."

"You saw many more die."

"And yet the pain never lessens."

"It would not be a tragedy, had he passed away peacefully, of old age," Andúniel sighed, her arms wrapped around her legs, her chin resting on her knees.

"Indeed."

"I was not ready… Perhaps it is foolish, but I believed he would always be there… And a shipwreck, of all things, a shipwreck! Isn't it… is it not unworthy of him? He was no sailor, no captain, he was a man of Arthedain and this land was his to defend… yet he died far away from it, far away from us…and it is so unfair."

And she turned around once more, this time looking straight at Elladan, searching on his handsome and impassible face an answer – anything that could soothe her grief.

The half-Elven shrugged slightly. "It is a cruel fate your father has met, Andúniel, and your grief shall perhaps never completely disappear…" he said in a soft voice. "Yet, one day, all these battles and this ongoing war shall be put to an end, by your father's descendants, by yours, and in end the Dúnedain shall triumph. Of that I am sure."

"I shall never see it, but at least you, you will be there," she said and she did not sound bitter, on the contrary, she did feel slightly comforted.

"When this days comes, I shall think of you, and of your father," Elladan whispered and the wind carried his words to Andúniel's ears.

The princess stayed by the sea till the evening, when the stars lit one by one, and well into the night. She and Elladan said nothing more, although the son of Elrond did not leave her side, reminiscing as he was about the fate of Men – a fate that could have well been his.

* * *

Aranarth, poor Aranarth, had little time to mourn. The kingdom he had inherited had been turned into ashes and ruins and there were too few Dúnedain who had survived the battles to rebuild Fornost. The crown prince was left with nothing, but despair and tears, and it even seemed pretentious for him to claim the title of king, for the land he'd rule would mostly be inhabited and it would not be properly defended. However, he postponed any decision that should be taken regarding this, for he heed the counsels of lord Círdan and lord Glorfindel, and decided to discuss these matters with lord Elrond, in Imladris.

Throughout this turmoil, he did find time to wonder what his father would have done, in his stead. Had he not drowned in the shipwreck, would he have attempted to reconstruct Arthedain? Or would he have admitted that it was the end, as the Seer had predicted it would happen, upon his birth? He did confide some of his doubts to his siblings, but they had not clear opinion on the matter. Their grief was too fresh to reason efficiently about the future of their people and, truth was, they were preoccupied by something else – they believed their mother would chose to go back to Gondor.

* * *

The day before the Gondorians were to depart, Eärnur asked for an audience with Fíriel, whom he had barely seen since he had had come back from his battles against the Witch-King. He had taken part in the ceremonies that had been held in honour of King Arvedui, but he had done so discreetly, respecting the family's mourning. Thus, when she was told Eärnur wished to see her, Fíriel expected he had come to giver her his condolences, which he did in due forms, but there was another reason why he had come. He had made a promise to his father and he intended to keep it, despite his strained relationship with Fíriel.

"Your highness, this may seem a bold proposition, yet it was discussed well before I departed from Pelargir. Gondor would welcome you back with great pleasure, lady Fíriel, for it is still your homeland, and there is a place for your aboard my ship, should it be your desire to leave the north."

"What of my children? Would your father welcome them as well?" Fíriel inquired, her face expressionless.

"He would."

"Ah… and would the Steward really agree to such a thing? And the lords of the High Council?" she argued. "I seem to recall they treated my family with great disrespect, some years ago…. Or should I understand that their memory is, like their loyalty, fickle?"

"Neither the Steward, nor the High Council have any say into this, for my father is the master of his own house," replied Eärnur, a little haughtily.

"It is noble of you to take pity on my family, lord Eärnur, and I know you bear my children no ill-will. For now, you are young and unmarried, yet shall come a day when a woman gives you a son... Then this pity you feel for Aranarth might turn into suspicion and you might begin to think of him as a threat. And you might regret your generosity... The lords of Gondor made their choice, years ago, and they chose your father instead of my husband and I." She paused and added, "it is better for all of us if my family and I stayed in the north, where we belong."

She was very polite, yet Eärnur perceived her rancor. With someone else, he would not have tolerated to be treated with such condescendence, but with Fíriel, he pretended not to notice it. He did truly pity her and he was no fool, he knew that it would have not taken much for her to have become Queen of Gondor and for his own father to remain a general.

"If you say so, Your Highness," he said and he had not intention to insist any further. "I do hope we will part on good terms."

"Of course, had it not be for your help, the Witch-King would still be ruling in Fornost…" Fíriel told him. "And… you have all my gratitude for having come to our aid."

"I have merely been honouring the promise Gondor made to Arthedain," Eärnur replied. "Well then, it is goodbye, my Lady."

"May you fare well, son of Eärnil."

Eärnur had not long left her rooms that came another visitor, a Gondorian lord she had seen once or twice with her sons but whose name she knew not. Even before he spoke, she could guess he was a man who dwelled in the western parts of Gondor, for his eyes were clear like the sea on bright summer day. There was something about his silhouette that was strangely familiar yet Fíriel was too exhausted to pinpoint what it was exactly.

"Your Highness, we have never met, yet you are well acquainted with my father. I am Imrazôr, the son of the Prince of Belfalas," said the man as he bowed deeply.

"Imrazôr!" Fíriel exclaimed and she beheld the tall man who stood before her, noticing he was greatly alike his noble father. "We have not met indeed, but it is almost as if I knew you already. Your father has oft written about you in the letters he has sent me."

"It is my profound regret we had to meet under such terrible circumstances."

Fíriel nodded, blinking a tear away. "I am glad to make your acquaintance nonetheless."

"So am I. My father has always spoken highly of you and of your brothers and of the late King and… I am carrying a message, your Highness."

"From your father?" said Fíriel who could easily guess what the Prince of Belfalas wished to tell her.

"Yes. He feared the war would cause great disasters in the north, thus he wanted me to tell you he was ready to help you, should you need it, and… Well his home is yours, should you chose to go back to Gondor."

Imrazôr was so earnest, so alike his father, that Fíriel smiled, very briefly, and it surprised her.

"Tell your father that I thank him, I truly thank him for his kind offer, and because during all these years he has never ceased to be my friend," she said. "However, I cannot go with you, Imrazôr, for I am now part of the north and this is where I should dwell, with my children."

"Your Majesty, I am afraid there is nothing left for you here, nor for your children," the young lord insisted with genuine concern.

"Oh, worry not, the Dúnedain might have become a scarce people in Arthedain, but these lands we cannot abandon. There are still many things here that are worth being protected."

"My father said you would refuse his offer," admitted Imrazôr, sheepish. "Yet he also bid me to tell you that you would _always_ be welcomed in Dor-en-Ernil, whether it is tomorrow, or twenty years from now."

"I will not forget these words," promised Fíriel.

And as he took his leave from her, she regretted there were barely no more young men like him left in the north – his son could do with more companions like him.

* * *

In the evening, that same day, Fíriel had a third visitor and this time it was not a man from Gondor, but lord Glorfindel himself, as bright as usual. Amidst the gloomy atmosphere that prevailed in the Grey Havens lately, his presence was soothing in a way that would have been hard to explain, but there was definitely something otherworldly about him.

"I was told that you have twice refused to go back to Gondor today, lady Fíriel."

"I did. I should admit I do long to see Minas Anor once again, but there is nothing left there for me," she said and she thought of the White Tree, whose life was said to be linked with the royal line.

"Well, I shall nonetheless take the risk of being the third person you rebuke today, my Lady, and I shall ask you if you would consider riding back to Imladris, in my company," said lord Glorfindel, gazing at her with kindness. "You would have a home there, a home in the north."

Truth was, Fíriel knew she wished to stay in the north, yet she had no idea where she could settle, on the long term. From what the soldiers had said, she could only gather that Fornost was in ruins and, although it was hard to face this fact, there were too few survivors to rebuild it – but could she henceforth dwell with the Elves?

"I suppose it is the most reasonable option, for the time being."

This answer made Glorfindel smiled and as ever it was a dashing smile – had Fíriel been younger, or simply less bitter, she'd surely have blushed and stuttered.

"It is the belief of lord Elrond, and mine as well if it should matter, that you and your family would be safest in Imladris."

"Andúniel and the twins will surely follow me, but Aranarth might have other plans in mind," said Fíriel. "He does intend to take counsel from lord Elrond, but where shall he go after…?"

"Wherever he shall go, he shall always have a place in Imladris, but you, my Lady, will you accept lord Elrond's hospitality?"

"With great pleasure, lord Glorfindel," Fíriel replied, resolved.

There was a moment of silence, during which she peered around, as water filled her eyes.

"I understand it is a difficult choice for you," lord Glorfindel told her.

"It is tempting to merely go back to Gondor and give up," Fíriel confessed, in a low voice. "Yet I'd be chasing a dream, for Minas Anor as it is now is different from the city I recall, and I have changed too… I am mother, a widow, a queen dowager." She paused, a little embarrassed. "I cannot really go back there, can I?"

It was not a real question and it required no answer, but lord Glorfindel said, "Come first to Imladris, my Lady, and then who knows what might happen."

* * *

Arvedui is #1 last king, but I should mention Eärnur is #2 :( . Imrazôr is a canon character, he is the father of the first prince of Dol Amroth, and ancestor of Imrahil.

Nowhere is it specified how Aranarth eventually learned where his father had gone, so I've assumed some travelers/merchants had perhaps had some dealings with the Lossoth and that was how word traveled that Dúnedain were staying in the Ice Bay. As for the shipwreck, it's only mentioned that it took quite some time before what had happened to the boat was known (again, words might have traveled very slowly from to the Lossoth who, I presume, had witnessed the shipwreck)

Poor Fíriel, really, she lost a lot of loved ones because of war.


	23. The Last Journey

**Nanold:** Thank you! Along the way, I managed to forget it would not end well, so I felt bad writing all this -_-

* * *

 **Chapter 23 – The Last Journey**

The journey to the east was slow and rather dull – rainy clouds followed them most of the way.

They were a small company, guided by the people of lord Elrond, and they crossed lands devastated by war, and places they had known and that they could barely recognized, for such had been the violence of the war against Angmar. Every upside-down tree, every burnt house they saw was a bitter reminder of their sufferings and of the fact that their kingdom existed no more. They stopped every now and then, to help people in need, and they took some in tow, leading them to safety in Bree. The little town had been damaged, but not so much as they had feared, and they also heard that the armies of Angmar never reached Tharbad. It was more than expected, yet it was still too little to reconstitute a realm of the Dúnedain.

In Imladris, they could finally rest, for there was something in this peaceful valley that healed the bodies and the minds – was it in the fresh air, the clear water or the tall trees…? Yet, while it was agreeable to be a guest in the house of Lord Elrond, Aranarth had to deliberate over the future of his line and of his people and it was a burden for him, one that the beauty of the Elven songs could not lighten. Thus, a council was called, to which were summoned the few Dúnedain lords who had survived, as well as Elves of lord Elrond's household. Fíriel was also invited to attend it, but she decided she would remain silent and let her son speak for their people, for she felt that, somewhere along the way, she had lost the will to take decisions regarding their people's future.

It had not been long since they had all gathered when lord Elrond declared that, given the circumstances, Aranarth should renounce the title of king of Arthedain.

"Indeed…" sighed the young man, and it was exactly what he had been pondering about during the last weeks. "How could I call myself a King, when there is no more land, no more people to rule? Would it no be pretentious and vain?"

"I fear there is another reason you should not claim this title, one you might have not perceived as of now," said lord Elrond, his voice full of compassion. "We know not yet what the exact nature of the Witch-King is, however we can assume that part of his objectives was completed, upon the destruction of Arthedain."

"Then, would Gondor be his next target?"

"Perhaps… Although he shall not proceed with Gondor as he did with Arthedain, for he saw the might and the valor of the Gondorian army during the battle of Fornost and he surely has understood that he cannot rely on mere strength to defeat them," lord Glorfindel said.

"Then should we expect cunning schemes and deceiving lies, like those who caused the fall of Númenor?" Aranarth wondered, frowning. "I have to warn King Eärnil, I might even have to go to Minas Arnor myself…"

"Aranarth, there is something I should tell you…" said lord Elrond, gravely. "It is only an intuition of mine, although it is shared by other members of the White Council, but I do believe it would be safer, if not crucial, for you and your kin to renounce kingship over the northern realm. The Witch-King, it seems, seeks to end the line of Elendil and it shall be safer for you if he believes he has achieved this, when causing the fall of your realm."

"Are you suggesting, my Lord, that I should live in disguise? That my mother and my siblings should hide?" exclaimed Aranarth, genuinely bewildered.

Unsure, the young man glanced at his mother, who was sitting with other Dúnedain.

"You are twice the descendant of Elendil, my son, and by blood, you could have been twice a king," Fíriel told him, her grey gaze locked on his. "From your line could be born the man who will become king of a reunited kingdom… When shall this happen, we know not, but for the time being, perhaps it is your best option to lay. However, it does not mean you should not play any active part in the fulfilling of the Dúnedain's fate."

"I understand…" he whispered, nodding slowly. "Riding from the Grey Havens to this valley, I thought we would meet no survivors… Yet there are people in the countryside, people in Bree and Tharbad… and the Halflings still dwells in the Shire… Even though we cannot rebuild our kingdom, we can protect what was not destroyed."

"And I shall try to assist you in this task as well as I can," promised lord Elrond.

"And so we all do," added lord Glorfindel.

Allies as powerful as these Elven lords did bring some comfort to Aranarth, who chose for himself the title of Chieftain of the Dúnedain It was also decided that the heirlooms of Elendil the shards of Narsil, the Elendilmir and the scepter of Annúminas, would be put in the safekeeping of Lord Elrond – missing were the ring of Barahir, that had been given to the Lossoth by Arvedui, faraway, in their ever-snowy land, and the palantíri that had sunk in the ocean during the shipwreck.

* * *

Thus, Fíriel and her family settled in Imladris and, while they were finally safe, their hardships were not quite over yet. Queen Gilwen, who was old and weary, passed away not long after they had reached the valley. It was already a wonder she had made it so far, for the she had lost the will to live after her son's tragic, nonetheless it grieved her grandchildren to bid her farewell. And Fíriel could sense her own mother had few years left ahead of her, and soon would come the day Queen Russiel would head back to Gondor, to be buried in the Silent Street, with her husband and her sons.

Hopefully, amidst all this gloom, her dear Meldis had remained by her side. The two ladies, having become widows at the same time, had grown closer than ever and they find great happiness in each other's company. It took them long months, years even, to get accustomed to their new life, but they almost managed to resume their old routine, as if they were still living in Fornost. The gardens in Imladris had nothing to envy to their old greenhouses, and it was with delight that they took strolls in the morning, watching nature's constant unfolding as seasons passed. They could have been extremely happy there, yet both ladies were haunted by the shadows of a past they'd never forget.

At the beginning of her stay in Imladris, night was something she had come to dislike, for Fíriel often dreamed Arvedui would arrive to Imladris. He'd say he had survived the shipwreck, or that he had never boarded the boat, and that he had walked all the way from Forochel. Those were sweet dreams in which he embraced her, kissed her, told he loved her and that he would never leave her again. Oh, they were the best fantasies, and suddenly their little family was reunited, and no longer were her children deprived of their father… When she awoke, at dawn, it always sometimes took her several minutes to recall where she was and why she was alone in her bed.

Fíriel would eventually realized that there was a breach, within her, a breach that would never mend. To her, the war was lost and so was her own personal fight, and she thought there was nothing more she could do to help the Dúnedain – she had become useless. She could only hope she and Arvedui's line would continue and that, one day, one of their descendant would rise and restore the might and glory of Arnor – something they had been unable to do themselves. In her darkest hours, she wondered what she and Arvedui had achieved, for had they not both failed, in the end? She had failed to mend the estrangement between Gondor and Arthedain, failed to reclaim her father's crown… and Arvedui had failed to protect his kingdom, failed to vanquish the Witch-King.

Oh, she did not blame him, for he had been valiant, and so had been the men under his command, yet she had come to understand that the Dúnedain of the north had too long fought an enemy too powerful for them, and that the alliance with Gondor had come too late. Then, she wondered, who was at fault? The princes whose feud had lead to the partition of Arnor? Or the pride of the Gondorians, who had almost forgotten their kinsmen, in the north? In the end, Fíriel chose to curse the Witch-King, this wretched creature that sought the end of the men of Westernesse…

At least, her children proved to be more resilient than she was. Aranarth traveled often throughout Eriador, hunting Orcs and helping with reconstruction, and eventually so did Artamir and Faramir, but they always came back to the house of Elrond. As for Andúniel, she never left her mother's side and remained unwed – Fíriel thought her daughter had too high expectations when it came to men, somehow. Even though their lives ended being different from what could have been expected, the children of Arvedui and Fíriel thrived and whenever their mother wondered if they really were happy, they never failed to reassure her. Truth be told, she was the only one who could never really adapt to this new existence and, perhaps it was just pride, but she hadn't forgotten the Citadel, where she had grown up, nor Fornost, where she had been a Queen. And she had had bigger dreams for her sons and daughter – had they not deserved better than having become fugitives in their own lands?

* * *

 **T.A. 2050**

It was with some delay that the news of King Eärnur's disappearance reached the ears of the Elves and of Fíriel, in Imladris. "Disappearance', the messengers said, for it was unknown if Eärnur had found death in Mordor or if he was being held prisoner. Hence, it was the Stewart, the son of lord Pelendur, who governed the lands in the meanwhile, for the lords of Gondor hoped the king might return, one day, and also because they were reluctant to elect a new ruler – since Eärnur was childless, there was no clearly designated heir of the throne.

It would have been a lie to say that, for a while, Aranarth was not tempted to claim the Gondorian crown, but he had come to terms with his fate long ago and he trusted lord Elrond's words. Thus, the prophecy pronounced by the Seer had proven true once more – _much sorrow and many lives of men shall pass, until the Dúnedain arise and are united again_ – and all there was left to do was to wait for the right time to come to struck the Enemy and defeat him once and for all.

For Fíriel, these tidings were a source of grief and great frustration. If only she and Arvedui had not been rejected by the High Council of Gondor… If she had been allowed to inherit her father's throne, or if it had been passed down directly to Aranarth… It'd take years for her bitterness to dissolve, although some of it would linger in her heart. That was also when she realized she had been dwelling among the Elves for a little over than 75 years, which meant that she had spent half her life in Imladris. Sheltered in this evergreen valley, she had forgotten about the passing of years, for it was a place that seemed eternal, a place that had known no beginning and that would know no end. Could she have ever imagined, when she had been a young maiden, in Minas Anor, that she would end up in the north, in the homely home of lord Elrond?

* * *

Fíriel lived a long life and, truth be told, there were times when she wondered if it was a blessing or a curse. Hopefully, her children and grandchildren never failed to remind her that, among her many hardships, good things had happened and that, in the end, it had all been worth it. Oh, she was still haunted by her old memories, but she kept it to herself and she passed none of her rancor to her sons and daughter.

And she feared not death. She thought that, the day she'd feel weary, she would simply lay down and fall asleep – and wherever she'd go, she would be welcomed by her loved ones. It was something she had often discussed with the Elves, for some of them were genuinely curious about Men and to them natural death was a puzzling thing, to say the least. And as time passed, she opened up about it to Andúniel, who had witnessed her mother's slow decline for a few years already.

"During the glorious days of Númenor, our ancestors used to give up their lives willingly, when they felt weariness overwhelm them… They embraced this gift, since it is said to be one. Although, for my part, I should admit that death is also the hope to be reunited with my parents, my brothers and with your father," she had explained to her daughter.

"You miss Meldis too," said Andúniel, emphatically.

"Yes… I loved her like the sister I never had," admitted Fíriel with a sad smile. "It seemed so cruel that she, who was younger than me, should die before I do."

"Even among our people, few are blessed with lifespan as long as ours. I used to think we are lucky, but I am not so sure…"

"It is normal to face some uncertainties," said Fíriel, gently stroking her daughter's cheek, as if she was still a little girl.

"Perhaps dwelling with the Elves has lead me to question life and death more than I would have otherwise," Andúniel retorted, thoughtful.

"Ah, living in the house of Lord Elrond is a great privilege, indeed, and it does good to mind and body… Yet not a single day has passed when I have not been yearning for Fornost and its freezing winters."

"Mother, do you really miss the snow?" chuckled Andúniel. "You used to wear your winter robes from October to April and even when you sat by the chimney, you would complain your rooms were awfully cold!"

"I knew not how lucky I was, back then, for my worries were quite simple…"

She did laugh, as her daughter teased her a bit more, but deep down, she felt sorrowful, for it was not really winter she longed for, but the happy days she had spent in Fornost – it even happened that she would fondly recall King Araphant's terrible character.

How things had changed, since the fall of Arthedain!

* * *

 **T.A. 2075**

When spring came that year, Fíriel felt it, this relentless weariness that could not be cured, and she understood her time had come. The world was slowly fading around her and she found no comfort in the softness of the flowers, the warmth of the sunrays or the merriness of the Elven songs.

Andúniel had noticed the change in her mother and, although it was to be expected, her heart was filled with sorrow. However, she was not one to avoid difficult situations, thus she quickly tackled the matter, in a frank and direct manner.

"Indeed, it will soon be the end for me, my dear child," Fíriel told her.

"Mother, are you not scared?"

Fíriel was slightly surprised by the inquiry, but she replied without hesitation. "No, there is nothing to fear. And I have had a long and full life…"

"But have you got any regret perhaps…?" whispered Andúniel.

"Oh, I do have one regret, for I still wish I could see the White Tree once more and if there was a chance I could be buried with my parents and my brothers, in the Silent Street…"

She felt sheepish to admit this to her daughter, but she could not deny that, with every year that passed, she yearned more and more to see again the land where she had been born. If Arvedui had been laid down to earth, she would have bid her children to put her to rest beside him, yet since her husband had drowned and the sea had claimed his body, she thought she really did belong in the south.

"Then have you considered going back to Gondor, at last?"

Fíriel was silent for a while, looking closely at the lilac trees that had blossomed in the courtyard. They were beautiful, but even her love for flowers and greenery had waned and it had become merely the echo of what she used to feel before.

"Yes, I suppose it was always meant to happen," she finally replied.

And it was feasible. Long ago, a friend of hers had assured her she would always be welcomed in his house, and although this friend had passed, she knew his son would keep the promise his father had made.

"Shall you follow the old road to the south?"

"I will sail to Dor-en-Ernil, then I can easily reach Minas Arnor by horse," Fíriel said. "And there, who shall recognize me, after all these years? All those I have known have died already and the others will only see an old lady…"

And so, her decision was taken and soon she headed to the west, escorted by Aranarth, Andúniel, Faramir and Artamir. This last journey seemed too short to her children and they were deeply grieving when she bid them farewell, at the Grey Havens. They were adults and had become parents themselves, save for Andúniel, yet they had never been sundered from their mother – never for a long time, at least. While the death of Arvedui had been a huge blow to them, it had also brought them closer and Fíriel had held their family together for years.

"Do no be sad, my sweet children, it is only natural I should go first," she told them. "It was hard, yet I have been happy, happier even than I could imagine…" She kissed them, as they wept, and then she reminded them, "You are the most precious gifts this existence has given me and I have loved you with my whole heart, and so did your father."

"Farewell, Mother," whispered Aranarth in her ear – he was the last to embrace her.

Thus, Fíriel left the north and sailed back to the land of her ancestors.

* * *

There was quite a difference between the Fíriel who had left Gondor, more than a century ago, and the one who landed in Dor-en-Ernil, on this bright day of summer. Her hair was still long and silky, but it had turned white, her freckles were competing with wrinkles on her face and she now walked slowly, as if her legs could give up on her at any moment. However, it was her gaze that had most changed: it now was full of melancholy, for her eyes had seen many tragedies.

Imrazôr, the son of the Prince of Belfalas, did recognize her nonetheless and he and his household gave her a warm welcome, although they were few to know who she really was.

"My lady, I must admit it was with utter bewilderment that I have heard the tidings of your coming here, yet it is a great honor to meet you once more."

He had aged as well and long was gone the young man who had fought by son's side during the battle of Fornost.

"Imrazôr, it is a pleasure to see you," she told him, genuinely. "It is said the people of your line are gifted with great foresight, therefore I presume your father knew I would come back, even though it is too late for me to greet him again."

"Perhaps, he was a wiser man than I ever could be."

Imrazôr was not as vigorous as he used to be, and he had become quite unable to travel for long. And so, it was Galador, his son, and Gilmith, his daughter, who accompanied Fíriel to Minas Anor, as they had promised their father they would help the dowager Queen fulfilled her last wish, and doing so they would also honor their grandfather's will.

The summer Sun kept Fíriel's old bones warm and it was with utter delight that she saw the familiar sceneries of Gondor unravel before her eyes. Lean cypresses still stood along the sandy roads and the fields and in the air mingled the familiar scents of lavender and rosemary – closing her eyes, she could almost believe she had traveled back into time. During one fleeting moment, she felt happy again, even though she would have liked her children to step on these lands along with her.

When Minas Anor came into sight, a few tears rolled down her cheeks, for it shone brightly, in all its splendor and might. She had missed it, more than she could ever tell, even though the choice to leave had not been forced upon her and the choice to remain in the north had wholly been hers. Feelings of all sorts overwhelmed her as they climbed through the levels of the city to reach the Citadel and she had to lean on Gilmith to make it to the rooms that had been prepared for her, up there. Imrazôr had good friends among the lords of Gondor and it had not been difficult for them to make some arrangements to accommodate Fíriel.

She stayed one night in the Citadel, sitting by a window, and she gazed at the White Tree and at the Moon. When dawn came, she wrote a small note to Imrazôr and his children, thanking them for their kindness and their loyalty, and she headed to the Silent Street. There stood the mausoleum where her family had been inhumed and she laid on the stone and she peacefully drew her last breath – her last thought was that it had been a hundred years since she had been parted from her beloved Arvedui.

And thus, Fíriel was buried in Minas Anor, beside her father, her mother and her brothers.

* * *

It took decades, and centuries, for what Arvedui and Fíriel had believed in to become true, but in the end, out of their line, was born the man who would reunite Gondor and Arnor and restore the splendor of the old realms of the Dúnedain.

* * *

The Silent Street, called Rath Dinen in Sindarin, is where the mausoleums of the Kings and Stewards are located, in Minas Tirith. I assume their families were buried there as well, and it seemed to be a nice burial place for Fíriel, since it means she is finally reunited with her family and back home (the north did become her home, yet I believe that deep down she always remained a Gondorian princess).

It's well established that the heirs of Isildur were born and raised in Imladris, starting with Aranarth's son, but it's unclear whether the mothers/wives were also living there or not. I assume they did for a time, like Aragorn's mother, so it seemed likely Fíriel would have stayed there and never relocated anywhere else in Eriador (given that she is a window and has no other family in the north than her own children).

I took inspiration from the dialogue between Aragorn and Arwen, before he dies, to describe the way Fíriel feels about death. I like the idea she died peacefully, in the old Númenórean way. Also, I made her live till she was 179 years old, it is a lot, but her grandfather, King Calimehtar, died at 200, and Aranarth, at 168, so I put her somewhere in between.

* * *

There is much left to be said about Aranarth and the Chieftains of the Dúnedain, but for now…

…this is the end! It took me almost exactly a year to complete it! **A big thank you to those who took the time to read it, I hope you enjoyed it, at least as much as I enjoyed writing it. Another big thank you those who followed/favorited and also to those who kindly left a review, it's always greatly appreciated** **:)**


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